Below we present some poems of three stanzas by known authors like Juan Ramón Jiménez, Alfonsina Storni or Fernando Pessoa.
A poem is a composition that uses the literary resources of poetry. It may be written in different ways, but it is usually in verse.
This means that it is composed of sentences or sentences written in separate lines and that are grouped in sections called verses.
Each of these lines usually rhyme with each other, that is, a similar vocal sound, especially in the last word of the lines, although this is not a rule nor is it true in all poems. On the contrary, there are many poems without any rhyme.
Nor is there any rule that determines the length of the poems. There are very large or single lines.
However, a standard extension ranges from three to six stanzas, long enough to convey an idea or feeling through poetry.
10 poems from three stanzas by renowned authors
1- The Far Sea
The source distances his cantata.
Awaken all roads...
Sea of Aurora, Silver Sea,
How clean you are among the pines!
South wind, are you coming?
of suns? Blind the roads...
Sea of siesta, sea of gold,
What a joy you are on the pines!
I do not know what...
My soul goes by the ways...
Sea of afternoon, sea of rose,
How sweet you are among the pines!
Author: Juan Ramón Jiménez
2- Melancholy
Oh, death, I love you, but I adore you, life...
When I go in my box forever asleep,
Make it last in time
Penetrate the spring sun in my eyes.
Leave me some time in the heat of the sky,
Let the fruitful sun shiver in my ice...
The star was so good that at dawn it came out
To tell me: good day.
I am not afraid of rest, do well rest,
But before the pious traveler kissed me
That every morning,
Joyous as a child, I reached my windows.
Author: Alfonsina Storni
3- This
They say I pretend or lie.
I write everything. Do not.
I just feel
With the imagination.
I do not use the heart.
Everything I dream or live,
What fails or ends,
It's like a terrace
Still about something else.
That thing is the one that is beautiful.
That is why I am writing in the middle.
of what is not at the bottom,
Free from my reverie,
Serious of what is not.
Feel? Feel who reads!
Author: Fernando Pessoa
4-Ostrich
Melancholy, remove your sweet spike already;
do not cebes your fasts in my wheats of light.
Melancholy, enough! What do your daggers drink?
the blood that extracted my blue leech!
Do not finish the manna of a woman who has come down;
I want some cross to be born tomorrow,
tomorrow that I do not have to turn my eyes,
when he opens his great O of mockery the coffin.
My heart is watered with bitterness;
there are other old birds grazing inside it...
Melancholy, stop drying my life,
and undress your woman's lip...!
Author: César Vallejo
5- If a thorn hurts me...
If a thorn hurts me, I pull myself away from the thorn,
... but I do not hate her! When pettiness
envious in me nails the darts of his unrest,
Silently skimmed my plant, and headed towards purer
environment of love and charity.
Brenches? What do they serve! What do grudges accomplish?
They do not heal wounds, nor correct evil.
My rose has little time to give flowers,
and does not prod sausages on sharp points:
if my enemy passes near my rose garden,
will take the roses of more subtle essence.
And if I notice in them some lively red,
Will be that of that blood that his malevolence
of yesterday poured, to hurt me with anger and violence,
and that the rose returns, exchanged in flower of peace!
Author: Amado Nervo
6- Madrigal to the tram ticket
Where the wind, undaunted, revolts
towers of light against my blood,
you, ticket, new flower,
cut on the balconies of the tram.
Huyes, straight, straight straight,
in your petal a name and a meeting
latent, to that center
closed and cut of commitment.
And the rose does not burn in you, nor in you deprives
the late carnation, if the violet
contemporary, live,
of the book that travels in the jacket.
Author: Rafael Alberti
7- If my hands could defoliate
I pronounce your name
in the dark nights,
when the stars come
to drink on the moon
and the branches sleep
of the hidden fronds.
And I feel hollow
of passion and of music.
Crazy clock that sings
dead old hours.
I pronounce your name
on this dark night,
and your name rings
more distant than ever.
Farther than all the stars
and more mournful than the gentle rain.
I will like you then
ever? What fault
has my heart
If the fog fades,
What other passion awaits me?
Will it be quiet and pure?
If my fingers could
Defoliate the moon!
Author: Federico García Lorca
8- Attached to me
Velloncito of my flesh
which I wove in my womb,
little trembling,
Duhte me attached to me!
Partridge sleeps in wheat
listening to it beat.
Do not be troubled by breath,
Duhte me attached to me!
I have lost everything
now I tremble even in sleep.
Do not slink off my chest,
Duhte me attached to me!
Author: Gabriela Mistral
9- Prelude
As the shadow passes from a holy love, today I want
put a sweet psalm on my old lectern.
I will remember the notes of the severe organ
to the fragrant sigh of the April fife.
The autumnal poms will ripen their aroma;
Myrrh and incense will salivate their scent;
the rosales will exhale their fresh perfume,
under the peace in shadow of the warm garden in bloom.
To the serious slow chord of music and aroma,
the only old and noble reason for my praying
he will raise his soma-dove flight,
and the white word will rise to the altar.
Author: Antonio Machado
10- Afternoon Love
It's too bad you're not with me.
when I look at the clock and it's four
and I finish the form and I think ten minutes
and I stretch my legs like every afternoon
and I do so with the shoulders to loosen the back
and I fold my fingers and I bring them lies.
It's too bad you're not with me.
when I look at the clock and it's five
and I'm a handle that calculates interests
or two hands jumping over forty keys
or an ear that listens as the phone barks
or a guy who makes numbers and brings them truths.
It's too bad you're not with me.
when I look at the clock and it's six o'clock.
Could you come near surprise
and tell me"What's up?"and we would be
I with the red stain on your lips
you with the blue tizne of my carbonic.
Author: Mario Benedetti
References
- Poem and its elements: verse, verse, rhyme. Recovered from portaleducativo.net
- Poem. Retrieved from en.wikipedia.org
- Poems by Juan Ramón Jiménez, César Vallejo and Gabriela Mistral. Recovered from amediavoz.com
- Poems by Alfonsina Storni and Rafael Alberti. Recovered from poesi.as
- Poems by Fernando Pessoa. Recovered from poeticas.com.ar
- Poems of Amado Nervo and Antonio Machado. Recovered from los-poetas.com
- Poems by Federico García Lorca. Retrieved from federicogarcialorca.net
- Poems by Mario Benedetti. Retrieved from poemas.yavendras.com