文学是一种语言艺术,诗歌又历来被视作文学的最高形式。学习英语诗歌不但有助于开阔视野,陶冶性情,而且对于英语学习有很大帮助。小编精心收集了关于适合朗诵的英文诗歌，供大家欣赏学习!

关于适合朗诵的英文诗歌篇1

Road Trip

Davis McCombs

Over the singed and brittle roadside stalks,

over cotton, corn and stubble,

our car's dark bug-shape slithers.

Over the metal drainpipe, over the oil rig,

and the burned field where a windmill

cranks its pinch of rust, we are

a hurried sweep of shadow, a sleek chromatic

gleam the cold sun follows

with its blue-orange dot of concentration.

We scurry like a flea across the hide of something

both immense and underfed,

a creature from the mind’s culvert,

an animal concocted out of barbed-wire ribs

and cockleburs, the grass its rippling fur

through which our small wake passes like a shiver.

关于适合朗诵的英文诗歌篇2

Famous Negro Athletes

Adrian Matejka

after Jean-Michel Basquiat

We are all famous Sunday mornings at the Y.

That magnificent & rattled-rim space of big·timing

Sundays. Gym bag hung over the shoulder

of a matching sweatshirt Sundays. Touch one toe

then the other if you can kind of days. Ball shoes

crisp in the bag & What up, team? we say.

For real, on Sundays, we're sweating in quintuplicate

like a grinning team portrait. Knees swollen as roundly

as the composite basketball we play with. & sometimes,

the shoe-string glance from the trainer up front, the

straight up & down of would-be ballers orbiting the ball

court like paparazzi & handshake laughs at bad passes

have to be adequate when your jumper is so far off

somebody should staple flyers to telephone poles for it.

关于适合朗诵的英文诗歌篇3

Thick Description

Eleanor Chai

I cut lines of ink as I read through the night.

I imagine the margins on pages are slim wings

between plankton and stars. I find what I need

in far sources. I make them intimate,

I make them mine with the speed of light.

He was seventeen, just a man, still a boy and ready to die.

A true sacrifice, a living encounter --

This father has paid

the sum of a daughter's dowry for his son to be consecrated

with a rod through his cheeks and tongue. The boy's face,

his mouth pierced and gaping, hangs on the page, helpless.

His clove-jelly eyes float and metamorphose into my mother's

eyes, eyes I can't possibly remember without images like his --

images forbidden, seized and smuggled into my life.

I can make anything mean what I need to find.

The stolen scrap, the plosive glance saturated in

longing is not looking at me: I am looking at it.

Every description is thick with a will to revivify --

reclaim, renounce, rename what is sought.

Blind hunger drives when I read. A scream, the echo of

a scream, hangs over that Nova Scotian village ... and bit

by bit a village I've never seen swells into me. The ovoid

mouth of my mother's life, its slivering silence exists

in that scream -- unheard, in memory. She came alive

forever -- not loud, just alive forever redeemed from her never

with no speech. A noun transformed to modify

action revived her, returned her to me.

The words as they lay may refuse to say what you need.

Drop to your knees. Crawl beneath the overhanging,

the dangling down. Stroke the described,

from underneath. It reeks of the atavistic

to live. It survives by swallowing.

关于适合朗诵的英文诗歌篇4

The Mind Is Its Own Place

Ann Townsend

Mated and unmated,

starlings swarm the willow

with their devotions

until the tree roils

and sways, wing-beats

sounding the torrent

through which they swim.

Dopamine, paroxetine,

an injection of adrenaline

into the bloodstream:

these deliver the dissident

fuel I crave for the mind's

pleasure, and for its pain.

Call it one song indispensable

to trouble the branching

arteries. The willow divinates

toward water, switching

in the breeze; it grazes

the edge but cannot

rest there. My fingertips

pressed against my temples:

ten points of sensation,

a vaulted cage where

starlings congregate

to rustle their chaos,

their alphabet blown to bits

in the wind's rush.

Yes, you heard me.

Like an aviary, Plato said,

the mind is full of birds.

关于适合朗诵的英文诗歌篇5

The Halo

C. Dale Young

In the paintings left to us

by the Old Masters, the halo,

a smallish cloud of light, clung

to the head, carefully framed the faces

of mere mortals made divine.

Accident? My body launched

by a car's incalculable momentum?

It ended up outside the car. I had no idea then

what it was like to lose days, to wake

and find everything had changed.

Through glass, this body went

through the glass window, the seatbelt

snapping my neck. Not the hanged man,

not a man made divine but more human.

I remember those pins buried in my skull,

the cold metal frame surrounding my head,

metal reflecting a small fire, a glow. All

was changed. In that bed, I was a locust.

I was starving. And how could I not be?

I, I . . . I am still ravenous.