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Famous Short Writing Poems. Short Writing Poetry by Famous Poets

Famous Short Writing Poems. Short Writing Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Writing short poems

See also: Best Famous Short Poems | Short Member Poems | Best Short Member Poems | Top 100 Famous Short Poems

 
by Kobayashi Issa

Writing shit about new snow

 Writing shit about new snow
for the rich
is not art.


by Emily Dickinson

If it had no pencil

 If it had no pencil
Would it try mine --
Worn -- now -- and dull -- sweet,
Writing much to thee.
If it had no word, Would it make the Daisy, Most as big as I was, When it plucked me?


by Wanda Phipps

Morning Poem #6

 groggy voice
hangover head
phone rongs
work call
money writing
muddled thoughts
adrenaline rush
hands clutch
power book
pauses comerapid doubts
make calls
take notes
ming push
fear waits


by William Carlos (WCW) Williams

A Sort Of A Song

 Let the snake wait under
his weed
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp
to strike, quiet to wait,
sleepless.
—through metaphor to reconcile the people and the stones.
Compose.
(No ideas but in things) Invent! Saxifrage is my flower that splits the rocks.


by Walter Savage Landor

Well I Remember How You Smiled

 Well I remember how you smiled
To see me write your name upon
The soft sea-sand .
.
.
"O! what a child! You think you're writing upon stone!" I have since written what no tide Shall ever wash away, what men Unborn shall read o'er ocean wide And find Ianthe's name again.


by Shel Silverstein

Its Dark in Here

 I am writing these poems
From inside a lion,
And it's rather dark in here.
So please excuse the handwriting Which may not be too clear.
But this afternoon by the lion's cage I'm afraid I got too near.
And I'm writing these lines From inside a lion, And it's rather dark in here.


by Spike Milligan

Letters

 I was thinking of letters,
We all have a lot in our life
A few good - a few sad
But mostly run of the mill-
I suppose that's my fault
For writing to run of the mill people.
I've never had a letter I really wanted It might come one day But then, it will be just too late, And that's when I don't want it.


by Vachel Lindsay

Shakespeare

 Would that in body and spirit Shakespeare came 
Visible emperor of the deeds of Time, 
With Justice still the genius of his rhyme, 
Giving each man his due, each passion grace, 
Impartial as the rain from Heaven's face 
Or sunshine from the heaven-enthroned sun.
Sweet Swan of Avon, come to us again.
Teach us to write, and writing, to be men.


by Richard Brautigan

Gee Youre So Beautiful That Its Starting To Rain

 Oh, Marcia, 
I want your long blonde beauty
to be taught in high school,
so kids will learn that God
lives like music in the skin
and sounds like a sunshine harpsicord.
I want high school report cards to look like this: Playing with Gentle Glass Things A Computer Magic A Writing Letters to Those You Love A Finding out about Fish A Marcia's Long Blonde Beauty A+!


by Robert Herrick

UPON TIME

 Time was upon
The wing, to fly away;
And I call'd on
Him but awhile to stay;
But he'd be gone,
For aught that I could say.
He held out then A writing, as he went, And ask'd me, when False man would be content To pay again What God and Nature lent.
An hour-glass, In which were sands but few, As he did pass, He shew'd,--and told me too Mine end near was;-- And so away he flew.


by Suheir Hammad

talisman

 it is written
the act of writing is
holy words are
sacred and your breath
brings out the 
god in them
i write these words
quickly repeat them
softly to myself
this talisman for you
fold this prayer
around your neck fortify
your back with these
whispers
may you walk ever
loved and in love
know the sun
for warmth the moon 
for direction
may these words always
remind you your breath
is sacred words
bring out the god
in you


by Allen Ginsberg

Fourth Floor Dawn Up All Night Writing Letters

 Pigeons shake their wings on the copper church roof
out my window across the street, a bird perched on the cross
surveys the city's blue-grey clouds.
Larry Rivers 'll come at 10 AM and take my picture.
I'm taking your picture, pigeons.
I'm writing you down, Dawn.
I'm immortalizing your exhaust, Avenue A bus.
O Thought! Now you'll have to think the same thing forever! New York, June 7, 1980, 6:48 A.
M.


by Richard Jones

What Do You Do About Dry Periods In Your Writing?

 When the writing is going well,
I am a prince in a desert palace,
fountains flowing in the garden.
I lean an elbow on a velvet pillow and drink from a silver goblet, poems like a banquet spread before me on rugs with rosettes the damask of blood.
But exiled from the palace, I wander -- crawling on burning sand, thirsting on barren dunes, believing a heartless mirage no less true than palms and pools of the cool oasis.


by W S Merwin

For the Anniversary of My Death

Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveler
Like the beam of a lightless star
Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And then shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what


by Amy Lowell

Fools Money Bags

 Outside the long window,
With his head on the stone sill,
The dog is lying,
Gazing at his Beloved.
His eyes are wet and urgent, And his body is taut and shaking.
It is cold on the terrace; A pale wind licks along the stone slabs, But the dog gazes through the glass And is content.
The Beloved is writing a letter.
Occasionally she speaks to the dog, But she is thinking of her writing.
Does she, too, give her devotion to one Not worthy?