These Write Epic poems are examples of Epic poems about Write. These are the best examples of Write Epic poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
Let me write you a poem.
A poem so great Bukowski would give me a hats off-
And hand me a beer.
A poem so well-written, John Mayer would play me a
Tribute song with his guitar.
Let me bring Shakespeare to shame-
Let me write you sonnets one and two,
Three, Four and maybe
Let the only alliteration be that of our laughter,
As we exchange puns and stories.
Let the words “I love you” be an understatement.
Let us be the Paradox – and let the popcorn munching crowd watch us with awe.
Let the touching of our lips write Concrete poems.
Let your embraces warm me with Haikus.
Chase me through Couplets where we are the only couple.
Let the only Dramatic Monologue be that within my palpitating heart.
Wrap me with imagery-
Shower me with smiles and similes.
Be the Free Verse,
Be the Epic poem,
Be the Ghazal poetry drunkards wrote to their loved ones…
Be the hero in my Heroic couplets,
Be the one.
Just let me write you a poem-
Where your name is the only repeated term.
Where the only irony is the twist of fate that brought us together.
Where the only onomatopoeia is the ROAR of your rusty car’s engine.
Where we stand like Oxymorons- contradictory but side by side.
Just let me write you a poem.
Or a novel
Or a play
Or a song-
Let me write you something.
Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.
Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away... slowly.
Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.
Well what should I write about tonight?
Should I write about what I did today?
Should I write about my shoelaces?
Should I write about doing laundry?
Or Should I write about what I'd like for breakfast tomorrow?
Maybe I should ramble about how the school day went.
Maybe I should complain about my room being dirty.
Maybe I should name off the food in my kitchen.
Or Maybe I should just talk about my hair.
I wanna talk about what I'm learning on guitar.
I wanna speak out about my inner issues.
I wanna yell a crazy rant.
I just wanna blow off some steam.
I wish I could take a bath with a girl right now.
I wish I would've finished my homework.
I wish I could shoot ice from my finger tips
I just wish I had some soda to quench my thirst.
There are so many things I could say right now!
But I just can't seem to decide.
I'd probably get some pretty weird looks
If I told you what's all bottled up inside.
I'm everywhere and nowhere in my head
Ideas and thoughts bouncing left and right.
Too bad I can't seem to think of anything.
I was really wanting to get some feelings out tonight.
Do I need to shave in the morning?
Should I go to the music store after school?
Why didn't I grab matching socks?
What does the weekend have in store?
I wish I had something to write about.
Eh, I'll think of something tomorrow night.
Sometimes I watch the rhythm of the stars
to foretell things not present yet to come
like weather men predict rain, sleet, or snow
the skies send futurity through my thoughts
Im just a man; no more...
yawning dreams of yesterday...
before yesterday occurred
I sleep with time that tease thoughts of tomorrow
a pinch of fate sometimes is all it takes
to witness how the world will wield and break
with humble breath my heart conforms puzzles I preach
believe or not I write to you a theme
that came to me while yawning dreams of yesterday
before yesterday occurred
ill animals plague man to man
the floors of earth will shake beds as they sleep
our moon will tell the sun to low the fire
a scorching heat upon the heads of most...
to top it off the waters will devour souls that weep
without an arc the mystery cuts like a knife
untamed and innocent life
Doth thou light speakth more?
free countries greed with war!
believe or not I write to you a theme
with ink purchased in 1896.
Inside a shallow space I said hello
to me, myself and I and loneliness
secluded see the day does not exist
without a social kiss
with isolation my shape forms a shadow
that darkness only see..
Hibernating inside walls I hide my hands
friends of none my life a shelf of books that bend
I speak again with silent echoes
inside of walls that hide my hands
my ears hear sounds of company
as even birds place feathers of concern atop my released roof
sincerely, Herald Hermit
Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
My Mother caring about all five in different ways
Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays
My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John.
music a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !
Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
The music takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "
My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food
the yelling , slamming of doors , tempers Flare , passion
Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?
Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee
No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
the Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .
Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
Excited in Chicago ! seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
Cubs , museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `
Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones ,
scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
~ That is the Family I Love ,
that is the Family I choose to miss ~
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
I slip my headphones on, and I begin dreaming,
my desk is my alter, and the Heavens is what I'm seeing.
My pen is the bridge, and this paper is the gate,
writer's block is the pad lock, the only thing in the way.
I click open my pen, and begin to release from within,
my blood runs as deep the ink, and washes away my sins.
My thoughts are the cross, and my burdens act like a wreath.
Razor sharp thorns cut me, as I'm trying to catch my breath.
My enemies are the whips, hitting me in the back,
tying me down with chains, just to get a little laugh.
My lyrics are my message, what got me here in the first place.
My mind is my shovel, digging the hole to bury my scarred face.
Then the beat stops, and I wake up from my trance,
I hit replay and try again, I only got one chance.
I'm giving it my all, but at least I'll always know one thing,
The track starts again, and I slip back into my sleep.
My pen is my gun and the paper is my enemies.
Writers block is my holding cell, and the key is my mind,
my mind is the problem, because it locks itself up all the time.
The beat is my pulse, slowing down before it drops,
then picking up the pace, while adrenaline does it's job.
My words are the bullets, penetrating your skin,
your body is still intact, but you're shattered within.
The lead is the streets, giving me countless ways to go,
the eraser gives me the ability, to never leave my home.
Every word is a stray bullet, it'll connect it won't.
My enemies are my targets, I either hit 'em or I don't.
But I'll keep shooting, until this lead goes dull,
I'm giving it my all, but at least I'll always know one thing,
Dating a beautiful redhead girl will be the greatest moment of my life. She’s like an Irish princess, even better. Her hair is so red, it’s as if she’s on fire. Her beautiful eyes are like a pair of emerald gems when I look at them. And her pale skin is as beautiful as pure, white snow. It seems to me that all attractive redheads are amazing, and most of all, they’re down to Earth. This redhead is also like a beautiful, Irish Princess, even from the Emerald Isle (Ireland). I never dated an attractive redheaded girl before, but it’s about time that I did. Plus, there are other beautiful redheads who are famous, like Kay and Danielle Panabaker, Emma Stone, Hayley Williams, Lindsay Lohan, Lily Cole, and others. Not to mention Julienne Moore, even though she’s happily married. I wouldn’t mind dating a beautiful redhead, but she has to be from the U.S. or Ireland. She’s like that redheaded warrior from Brave. She’ll be my Irish Princess one day (Irish girlfriend), and I’ll be her American prince (American beau). I say, if I were to get into a serious relationship with this attractive redhead, I won’t break her heart; I’d also be honest and truthful to her. I know that female redheads are sensitive and I also know that she doesn’t want to be brokenhearted. All I know is that if I fall in love with a redhead girl and I become infatuated with her, there’s just no telling.
The city has everything anyone can dream of: public transportation (city buses, trains/subways, and taxi cabs), theaters, parks, hotels, and restaurants; not to mention downtown apartments. All of the cities are the largest metropolitan areas that never sleep. Living in the city is like being a part of the essence of urban living. And when he or she's in the city for a concert or another event, they won't want to leave it behind; they just want to stay there. It looks like I'm not the only one who's a city person; it's everyone else, too. The U.S. has multiple cities, and so does the rest of the world (Beijing, Rome, Paris, Toronto, or wherever). No mater what city are these people from, they're all part of the urban society. To be honest, I've always wanted to reside in the city: New York City, Seattle, Washington, Atlanta, Georgia, Kansas City, Missouri, London, U.K., Los Angeles, California, or Toronto, Ontario, Canada. I see all cities with brand new buildings in the year 2065, and I also see aliens or any other life form interacting with the humans in the futuristic city, as well. If the city's ready for me and I plan on residing in one of them for a long time, that would be great.
I stand solo, aloof in the snow, a precipitation
of words cascading from a nebulous eye
Fathoms wide, forever dripping like wax onto
a punctured paper serving a Sanskrit sky,
and spreading into sibilant sentences swiftly
sliding from syllable sorcery to soulful serenades
so silent in the shunting shout of white. Poetry
fills a churning void where novels cannot wade,
Phrases solidifying into idolisation of emotion
itself, isolation of the isometric individuality that so
Crushes my keeling cavern of thought, ever
careering from caustic career path to another new low,
Which so seems to crumble into crazy paving’s
counterpart. In this first freeze-frame we can all grasp
A fraction of the familiar, oh so fractured by the
fumbling nature of enforced form. Freed by the gasp
Of a photo-opportunity glowing phosphorescent
with firsts, I am no longer framed by the festering
Constraints of non-fiction, and folding my fond
farewells carefully, I hesitantly face a vision pestering
Me, fearing the fiend that would open maw and
gnaw beneath my feet, evoking an avalanche of the
Vernacular, but I am further past this unfed
existence now, loosened from the fickle friendship of a
Winter thaw. Focus not your gaze on the grinding
gauze of the greats, for the pressing pestilence of
Perishable poetry is elsewhere pondering its parallels
in posturing and post-modern pining for forlorn love.
Praise no other; I am poetry.