These celebration poems burst with joy and exuberance, commemorating moments of triumph, love, or personal achievements. They capture the essence of merriment, often utilizing vivid imagery and rhythmic language to convey a sense of festivity.
Celebration poems may revolve around birthdays, weddings, cultural festivities, or life’s joy. They inspire readers to cherish special moments and find beauty in the little things, spreading positivity and gratitude.
‘A Toast’ by George Santayana is a passionate poem that gives thanks to wine’s euphoric effects.
See this bowl of purple wine,
Life-blood of the lusty vine!
All the warmth of summer suns
In the vintage liquid runs,
‘Twist Ye, Twine Ye’ envisions life as a fateful entanglement of bittersweet dualities that can never be separated.
Twist ye, twine ye! even so,
Mingle shades of joy and woe,
Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife,
In the thread of human life.
‘The Lighthouse’ celebrates the lighthouse as a symbol of guiding knowledge with historical and mythic significance.
In the clean house on the rock
where sleepy headlands drink the evening sea
and floors are cut to fit horizons,
the great fish-eye revolves
‘won’t you celebrate with me’ by Lucille Clifton addresses racism and inherent gender inequality. The speaker has overcome every hurdle and modeled herself in her own image.
won't you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
‘From Blossoms’ describes the simple joys of summer. It uses peaches to explore the vivid interconnectedness of the world.
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
‘The Building of the Ship’ by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow encapsulates the nation’s resilience and unity amid adversity, sailing onward with courage.
"Build me straight, O worthy Master!
Stanch and strong, a goodly vessel,
That shall laugh at all disaster,
And with wave and whirlwind wrestle!"
‘Indian Weavers’ explores the inevitability of death while celebrating the cycles of human existence and experience.
Weavers, weaving at break of day,
Why do you weave a garment so gay? . . .
Blue as the wing of a halcyon wild,
We weave the robes of a new-born child.
‘A Rhyme for Halloween’ by Maurice Kilwein Guevara captures the macabre side of the fun Halloween holiday.
Tonight I light the candles of my eyes in the lee
And swing down this branch full of red leaves.
Yellow moon, skull and spine of the hare,
Arrow me to town on the neck of the air.
‘America’ by Walt Whitman is a short but impactful poem that expresses the poet’s pride and joy for his fellow countrymen.
Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,
All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old,
Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,
Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love,
‘Be Drunk’ by Charles Baudelaire is a stirring poem meant to incite the reader to passion about life.
You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it—it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
‘In Possum Land’ yearns to leave behind the urban clamor in favor of the tranquil sanctuary afforded by a rural landscape.
In Possum Land the nights are fair,
The streams are fresh and clear;
No dust is in the moonlit air;
No traffic jars the ear.
‘She Walks in Beauty’ by Lord Byron glorifies the atypical beauty of a woman whom the speaker lovingly adores.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
‘Sumer is icumen in’ is a song written in the Wessex dialect of Middle English. The brilliance of the composition lies in the use of a refrain that resonates with the consecutive cooing of the Cuckoo.
Summer has arrived,
Loudly sing, cuckoo!
The seed is growing
And the meadow is blooming,
‘That Music Always Round Me’ by Walt Whitman is a beautiful poem that melds together the poet’s democratic worldview with a rapt appreciation for individual beauty.
That music always round me, unceasing, unbeginning, yet long untaught I did not hear,
But now the chorus I hear and am elated,
‘The Silver Flask’ by John Montague recounts the poet’s family reunion and their journey to Ireland after twenty years to celebrate Christmas.
The family circle briefly restored
nearly twenty lonely years after
that last Christmas in Brooklyn,