June Poems | Best June Poem Inspirations To Kick Off Summer

    Share:

    A Memory Of June Poem by Claude McKay

    When June comes dancing o’er the death of May,
    With scarlet roses tinting her green breast,
    And mating thrushes ushering in her day,
    And Earth on tiptoe for her golden guest,

    I always see the evening when we met–
    The first of June baptized in tender rain–
    And walked home through the wide streets, gleaming wet,
    Arms locked, our warm flesh pulsing with love’s pain.

    I always see the cheerful little room,
    And in the corner, fresh and white, the bed,
    Sweet scented with a delicate perfume,
    Wherein for one night only we were wed;

    Where in the starlit stillness we lay mute,
    And heard the whispering showers all night long,
    And your brown burning body was a lute
    Whereon my passion played his fevered song.

    When June comes dancing o’er the death of May,
    With scarlet roses staining her fair feet,
    My soul takes leave of me to sing all day
    A love so fugitive and so complete.

     

     

    An Hour With Thee Poem by Sir Walter Scott

    An hour with thee! When earliest day
    Dapples with gold the eastern gray,
    Oh, what can frame my mind to bear
    The toil and turmoil, cark and care,
    New griefs, which coming hours unfold,
    And sad remembrance of the old?
    One hour with thee.

    One hour with thee! When burning June
    Waves his red flag at pitch of noon;
    What shall repay the faithful swain,
    His labor on the sultry plain;
    And, more than cave or sheltering bough,
    Cool feverish blood and throbbing brow?
    One hour with thee.

    One hour with thee! When sun is set,
    Oh, what can teach me to forget
    The thankless labors of the day;
    The hopes, the wishes, flung away;
    The increasing wants, and lessening gains,
    The master’s pride, who scorns my pains?
    One hour with thee.

     

     

    Readers Make You Great In Rank Poem by Kumarmani Mahakul

    Oh dear poets, dear poets of the world,
    Readers make you great, readers decide rank,
    Readers make you popular, readers are secular,
    No jealousy can hamper, no one can temper,
    Good poems are read by readers of the globe,
    Good poets are liked by thousands of readers,
    You are breeder of beauty and breeder of poems,
    Readers are breeder of reading and ranking,
    We are thanking all the readers of the world!

    Poets are travelling towards power of expression,
    In the poetic highway of up and down mountain,
    Progression is rained in vision of scene of nature,
    Poets ride poetic vehicle in day and night dream,
    Pen gives them reality on paper while penning,
    Gaining fame is not in their hands as readers decide,
    Still few malicious persons attack them from back
    This is so sad, but good readers bring cheer for many,
    Peaceful poets are liked by billions of readers,
    Sweetness in tune of poem motivates them and attracts,
    Readers seek for peace and love, freedom and rights,
    God’s grace give them patience to read and review!

    Oh dear thousands of readers to my page and poems,
    You have made my success and brought me up in rank,
    It will be very less, if trillions of times I thank,
    On bank of river I cry, on tank of pen I pour ink,
    In this infinite highway towards God, I am alone,
    Still in thousands, towards my poems you link,
    I do not know to which country you belong,
    I do not know your names, I do not know you too,
    In this vast globe still you are my brothers,
    As we are children of same God, we all are souls,
    I thank you all, my dear world brothers and sisters,
    Nine thousand seven hundred ninety eight readers,
    In maximum numbers on date 13 June 2020, in single day,
    With percentage of hundred, you have read my page,
    Reading my poems you had brought me up
    Into the world rank
    On most popular top five hundred poets,
    On next day on 14 June 2020 it was witnessed
    With the rank of One Hundred andSeventy Two,
    Still you are reading and I am in ranking,
    Although there is up and down
    Still on my head you have put the crown,
    Wearing the gown of poetic cloth I sing in town,
    Namaste, oh dear world readers,
    The best decision makers, the best supporters,
    Cracking down nasty politics of few jealous persons,
    And cracking down the danger of Corona Virus,
    You have reflected your light of greatness,
    With best wishes, to all of you I am thanking!

     

     

    The False Friends Poem by Dorothy Parker

    They laid their hands upon my head,
    They stroked my cheek and brow;
    And time could heal a hurt, they said,
    And time could dim a vow.

    And they were pitiful and mild
    Who whispered to me then,
    “The heart that breaks in April, child,
    Will mend in May again.”

    Oh, many a mended heart they knew.
    So old they were, and wise.
    And little did they have to do
    To come to me with lies!

    Who flings me silly talk of May
    Shall meet a bitter soul;
    For June was nearly spent away
    Before my heart was whole.

     

     

    Another Way Of Love Poem by Robert Browning

    I.

    June was not over
    Though past the fall,
    And the best of her roses
    Had yet to blow,
    When a man I know
    (But shall not discover,
    Since ears are dull,
    And time discloses)
    Turned him and said with a man’s true air,
    Half sighing a smile in a yawn, as ’twere,—
    “If I tire of your June, will she greatly care?”

    II.

    Well, dear, in-doors with you!
    True! serene deadness
    Tries a man’s temper.
    What’s in the blossom
    June wears on her bosom?
    Can it clear scores with you?
    Sweetness and redness.
    _Eadem semper!_
    Go, let me care for it greatly or slightly!
    If June mend her bower now, your hand left unsightly
    By plucking the roses,—my June will do rightly.

    III.

    And after, for pastime,
    If June be refulgent
    With flowers in completeness,
    All petals, no prickles,
    Delicious as trickles
    Of wine poured at mass-time,—
    And choose One indulgent
    To redness and sweetness:
    Or if, with experience of man and of spider,
    June use my June-lightning, the strong insect-ridder,
    And stop the fresh film-work,—why, June will consider.

     

     

    The Best Thing In The World Poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

    What’s the best thing in the world?
    June-rose, by May-dew impearled;
    Sweet south-wind, that means no rain;
    Truth, not cruel to a friend;
    Pleasure, not in haste to end;
    Beauty, not self-decked and curled
    Till its pride is over-plain;
    Love, when, so, you’re loved again.
    What’s the best thing in the world?
    –Something out of it, I think.

     

     

    Adlestrop Poem by Edward Thomas

    Yes, I remember Adlestrop —
    The name, because one afternoon
    Of heat the express-train drew up there
    Unwontedly. It was late June.

    The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
    No one left and no one came
    On the bare platform. What I saw
    Was Adlestrop — only the name

    And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
    And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
    No whit less still and lonely fair
    Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

    And for that minute a blackbird sang
    Close by, and round him, mistier,
    Farther and farther, all the birds
    Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

     

     

    In Memory Of My Mother Poem by Patrick Kavanagh

    I do not think of you lying in the wet clay
    Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see
    You walking down a lane among the poplars
    On your way to the station, or happily

    Going to second Mass on a summer Sunday –
    You meet me and you say:
    ‘Don’t forget to see about the cattle – ‘
    Among your earthiest words the angels stray.

    And I think of you walking along a headland
    Of green oats in June,
    So full of repose, so rich with life –
    And I see us meeting at the end of a town

    On a fair day by accident, after
    The bargains are all made and we can walk
    Together through the shops and stalls and markets
    Free in the oriental streets of thought.

    O you are not lying in the wet clay,
    For it is a harvest evening now and we
    Are piling up the ricks against the moonlight
    And you smile up at us – eternally.

     

     

    A Red, Red Rose Poem by Robert Burns

    O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
    That’s newly sprung in June;
    O my Luve’s like the melodie
    That’s sweetly play’d in tune.

    As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
    So deep in luve am I:
    And I will luve thee still, my dear,
    Till a’ the seas gang dry:

    Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
    And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
    I will luve thee still, my dear,
    While the sands o’ life shall run.

    And fare thee well, my only Luve
    And fare thee well, a while!
    And I will come again, my Luve,
    Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.

     

     

    We Real Cool Poem by Gwendolyn Brooks

    The Pool Players.
    Seven at the Golden Shovel.

    We real cool. We
    Left school. We

    Lurk late. We
    Strike straight. We

    Sing sin. We
    Thin gin. We

    Jazz June. We
    Die soon.