诗歌是一种精美的艺术,其语言之精炼,语汇之丰富,表达形势之精妙令人叹为观止。学英文而不懂英文诗歌,从审美角度看是个遗憾。小编分享优秀英语诗歌朗诵稿，希望可以帮助大家!

优秀英语诗歌朗诵稿：Even the Ohio Can Change

Rick Campbell

The river I grew up on was rank

with oil. Shoreline stones

gleamed slick-blue and nothing

in the river was worth a slug

of scrap metal: carp and catfish,

sick, riddled with chemical blood.

My river was for barges,

owned by US Steel, ARMCO, J&L.

They pumped it full of slag,

dripped and drained oil and gas

through a thousand hidden holes.

Nothing good could come of it

except a living and life,

a whole valley's clinging dream.

The Indians who named it beautiful river

weren't wrong; how could they know

what would come, dark and sooty,

burning the sky, turning the earth

to mud and cinder.

Even in our terrible need

we couldn't kill it and the river

is coming back to river once again.

In the cold ruin of the Ohio's banks

muskies swim the secret paths below.

We grow older, the river younger,

and great fish smash into the air

to swallow a caterpillar

fallen from a willow branch.

优秀英语诗歌朗诵稿：Adam Home from the Wars

Sean Bishop

Yes, when the orchard's dolled up in pastels

and the finches scrawl cursive across the sky

and the big moon sags like a tit o'er the meadows,

I'll trade in my Glock for a pocket of dew.

And the wars will stop. And everyone

will do the dishes. And the lion

will sweetly go down on the lamb

as among the rifle casings the brambles

eject -- at last -- their thorns.

Once, on a bench by the river, the little ducks

seemed bread-sated and happy. I had my girl.

It was the Great Past Tense and everything was lovely.

Then, on the breeze: burnt spruce or a musk

of black powder and blood from a further field.

I made for my wound a poultice of wounds,

and the ones I wounded made poultices too.

We've come here this evening to give them to you.

优秀英语诗歌朗诵稿：Parable

Sandra Beasley

Worries come to a man and a woman.

Small ones, light in the hand.

The man decides to swallow his worries,

hiding them deep within himself. The woman

throws hers as far as she can from their porch.

They touch each other, relieved.

They make coffee, and make plans for

the seaside in May.

All the while, the worries

of the man take his insides as their oyster,

coating themselves in juice - first gastric,

then nacreous - growing layer upon layer.

And in the fields beyond the wash-line,

the worries of the woman take root,

stretching tendrils through the rich soil.

The parable tells us Consider the ravens,

but the ravens caw useless from the gutters

of this house. The parable tells us

Consider the lilies, but they shiver in the side-yard,

silent.

What the parable does not tell you

is that this woman collects porcelain cats.

Some big, some small, some gilded, some plain.

One stops doors. One cups cream and another, sugar.

This man knows they are tacky. Still, when the one

that had belonged to her great-aunt fell

and broke, he held her as she wept, held her

even after her breath had lengthened to sleep.

The parable does not care about such things.

Worry has come to the house of a man

and a woman. Their garden yields greens gone

bitter, corn cowering in its husk.

He asks himself, What will we eat? They sit

at the table and open the mail: a bill, a bill, a bill,

an invitation. She turns a saltshaker cat

between her palms and asks, What will we wear?

He rubs her wrist with his thumb.

He wonders how to offer

the string of pearls writhing in his belly.