Welcome to Your Daily Poem!
This site exists for one purpose only: to help dispel the ugly myth that poetry is boring. Granted, a lot of poetry is boring, but you won't find it here. At Your Daily Poem, you'll find poetry that is touching, funny, provocative, inspiring, and surprising. It may punch you in the gut, it may bring tears to your eyes, it may make you laugh out loud, but it most assuredly will not bore you.
Poetry on YDP--by poets living and long dead, famous to completely unknown--is specially selected for accessibility and appeal. If you enjoy the site, please pass it along; there's a "Share" button below to make that easy. And if you'd like to add a bit of poetry to your life on a regular basis, use the "Subscribe" button at the left and we'll deliver a poem directly to your mailbox daily, every Monday, or once a month.
You're encouraged to comment on any of the poems you see featured here; a simple registration process will allow you to do that. Registering will also allow you to participate and comment at the YDP Open Mic, where you can share your own poetry and get helpful feedback. Please bear in mind that Your Daily Poem attracts readers of all ages and mindsets; comments that are crude, insensitive, or inflammatory are unwelcome and will be removed.
Thanks so much for visiting. Content here is updated daily, so come back often or, better yet, become part of the YDP family and enjoy private commentary shared only with subscribers.
Remember: a poem a day keeps the doldrums away!

|
|
|
Sunday Dip by John Clare The morning road is thronged with merry boys
Who seek the water for their Sunday joys;
They run to seek the shallow pit, and wade
And dance about the water in the shade.
The boldest ventures first and dashes in,
And others go and follow to the chin,
And duck about, and try to lose their fears,
And laugh to hear the thunder in their ears.
They bundle up the rushes for a boat
And try across the deepest place to float:
Beneath the willow trees they ride and stoop—
The awkward load will scarcely bear them up.
Without their aid the others float away,
And play about the water half the day.
This poem is in the public domain. Post/view comments for this poem |

John Clare (1793 - 1864) was born to a poor, working class family in England. His life as an uneducated peasant farmer was one of constant struggle and hardships, yet his poetry is wonderfully inspiring. John was a "poetic environmentalist," in awe of the natural world, and nature is the theme of much of his work. His poetic talent earned him access to London’s literary circles, though his inferior social standing kept him from ever truly joining its ranks. Tragically, John spent the last twenty years of his life in a mental asylum, though he continued to write and produce poetry that some critics laud as some of the 19th century’s best work. Learn more about John Clare here.
|