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Best Name Poems

Below are the all-time best Name poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of name poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Name Poem |

My Cat

I love my cat.

She has 4 legs 

and a tail 

and nice ears 

and a cute little nose.

She is gray with black stripes.

Her eyes are kinda green

kinda yellow.

I don't know what colour this is?

Her name is Bast.

This is the name of a very pretty cat goddess

who lives where the pyramids grew.

When my cat is happy she purrs.

So do I.

My cat is soft and warm.

My cat likes to eat food.

Right now I am feeding her special food for young cats.

She likes this better than the last stuff.

She eats all day long.

I do too.

If I become fat

or she becomes fat

I will cut down on our food.

My cat also likes to drink water.

So do I.

I got rid of her cat bowls.

Now she uses the same bowls I do.

I think this makes her feel extra special.

When my cat wants to play outside

she meows and scratches at the door.

This is how I know if she wants to play outside.

My cat poops in the neighbour's yard

so I don't have to clean her litter box too much.

I love my cat.

If I was a cat I would marry her.

We could have a honeymoon in the park.

I would dance around

and watch her climb trees.

At night my cat sleeps on top of me.

If she moves around too much

she wakes me up.

This makes me mad.

But she doesn't care.

She just looks at me.

And looks at me.

Then waits for me to fall back asleep

so she can sleep on top of me some more.

But I still love my cat.

Very much.

Even if she makes me mad sometimes.

But only now and then.

She creates far more happiness than anger.

I suppose this is how it is for some married couples?

Cats are great.

I wish more people had a cat like mine

because then everyone else would be happy just like me.

One great big happy world

filled with peaceful thoughts instead of so much pain and war.

I hope she lives a long time.

When she dies I will get another cat

because they are so nice.

And when I die 

I will meet all of my cats

up in heaven.

I love my cat.

And she loves me.


Details | Name Poem |

Person of Colour

Person of colour is coherently germane,
He is never insane.

Some things about this person of colour may seem strange,
He is simple and he is yet to engage.

This person of colour loves the critics,
It is from them, he ticks.

This person of colour is natural,
And so, he is not a trial.

This person of colour loves to exchange
Ideas beyond his range.

This person of colour loves keyboard,
Tis with this he comes on board.

This person of colour is a charcoal- a black beauty.
This person of colour is me.


Details | Name Poem |

Yes Friend, It Will Matter

Say not to me,
that it will not matter a hundred years from now,
that I was here.
For surely I have touched one life in a positive way,
perhaps in daily prayer
I've called your name one day.
Having no profound accomplishments or delusions of fame,
and leaving no progeny
to perpetuate my name,
still, it will matter that I was here.
For I have quietly endeavored to sow, and I have watered.
I love and am loved--should one desire more?
Life is good and hopefully God is pleased.
The tracks I'll leave, it's true,
will not be so ingrained as to stand harsh winds of time
and they shall fade as the evening sun,
leaving somewhere, only a name and date chiseled in granite.
Perhaps, if only in thought,
one pausing o'er me should question, who was this man?
Let God simply whisper, that I am His.


Details | Name Poem |

The Tale of Miss Jenny Prime

Let me tell you the story of Miss Jenny Prime,
who spent all of her days making everything rhyme.
It was thought she’d outgrow this strange childhood spell,
but her fetish just grew and made her parents’ life hell.

When Miss Prime was a baby, still sporting a bib,
each night she was cuddled, then placed in a crib
by her doting young parents, who thought it quite funny
to give her a pet name, “Sleep tight Hunny Bunny.”

And that was the start of poor Jenny’s plight,
forced to listen to vowel chimes night after night.
Before long she was making up rhymes for herself,
all her un-rhyming toys were just left on the shelf.

Even quenching her thirst could cause quite a stink,
no O.J for Jenny, her drink had to be pink.
They bought her some shoes, red, shiny and new,
“I’ve told you, I’m not wearing a shoe that’s not blue”

She demanded a dog so they went to the pound,
she picked the fattest one there, just to have a round hound.
Her bed had to be red, her jeans had to be green,
and a fish dish for dinner or she’d cause a right scene.

Stamping her feet she cried “I should be Jenna,
and for pocket money, I should be getting a tenner”
Each Friday brought tantrums, as she hardly had any,
reluctantly taking just a penny for Jenny.

Her increase in years simply brought more despair,
she bleached ebony locks for she needed fair hair.
The colours of clothes always caused her to cry,
so to get round the problem she learned to tie-dye.

Now I know it will come as some sort of surprise,
but Jenny had caught a young gentleman’s eyes.
He knew things would be tough, but he’d give it a try
so, with posies of roses, he dared to drop by.

The roses were great and he was kinda cute,
he’d even gone to the trouble of tie-dying his suit.
He was called Jack Kilkenny, his name did not rhyme,
so she told him to leave and stop wasting her time.

But Jack was his nickname, his real name was Lenny.
Alas, this information was not known to Jenny.
He was perfect for her, a match better than any,
for if they’d wed they’d be Lenny and Jenny Kilkenny.


Details | Name Poem |

These ribbons I tie as you leave

Blue – 
for your arm wrapped around
my clavicle. I thought
I would loose my breath.

Red – 
for the cusp of our hip bones
struggling to pull the drunken color
from our orange cheeks.
and our sweat, our sweat, our sweat
evaporating 
in the drenched summer air.
Our pants futile afterthoughts
Left crumpled on the floor
It is here I asked for your respect
And you filled me with it.


Orange – 
for the musk smell of our blanket den. I would watch the way dawn light
speckled your shoulders, pale, white-blue
Iridium. 
I would trace the ink
of your skin, fingertip hovering a half inch
from your bone. 

Green – 
for how my name would hesitate
on your breath in brief puffs 
like dandelion seeds blown from 
My wistful lips when I was 
eleven 
waiting for them to bring back my wish.

Black – 
for my sleeveless dress, as we strolled from 
your father’s funeral.  

It was the only time I watched you cry.

There were little holes in the cement sidewalk.
They filled with rain, oil
And your tears.
I watched your face change through 
their watery colored reflections.


Pink – 
for the way your skin repels from my 
Touch, quivers as though my finger- 
print were a red hot poker.
You haven’t allowed me to touch you
In a year.

Purple – 
for the color of her font, as she responds to you. It is an eager
Color. She responds with all the passion of an Eskimo kiss. 

You left her waitng..always.

I have been special to you,
she replies to your
overtures.

Her letters 
Who blush
like a maid
Who’s felt the hot moist
whisper of something naughty
tickle against her ear lobe.

White – 
for the way your eyes punch accusations
sharper then your razor tongue.

They spit 
blue crackled lightening,
like an angry alley cat.

My words cannot reach you here.
You will leave.

We will divide our booty

Words that once held my name like a piece
Of carefully folded origami
now hiss cold 
devoid like the plaster of our empty room.

Grey- 
for the morning 
now knocking on my window.

I am livid in my withdrawal, tossing and turning
I can find no comfort
in
the tangle of these vacant sheets. 




Details | Name Poem |

Houston we have a problem

"When returning love, becomes to Late"

Fantastic,
From her eyes
His name the name
She mumbles silently 
3 rivers, 3 years, 2 many tears
She loves him endlessly

Sending her soul
A free feeling, 
Finally, he fell
Engaging, equal to the spell
Morning, mountains and more
Move across a new age moon
His heart happily 
Traveling towards hers
Dashing dandy, onto her dinner plate 
Too long she waited, 
She's not hungry, her heart self healed 

3 rivers 3 years 2 late
Her tears faded his rusty name 

SKAT


Details | Name Poem |

Raven's Sign

Fog settles on the tombstones. In the dark, an eerie blue,
the graveyard is a misty ocean Raven passes through.

She stops. The solitary site is grim, devoid of any sound.
Her long black gown, a ruffled slip, is satin sweeping ground.

Sable locks lie smooth and straight  across her graceful back.
Stark contrast is her alabaster skin to hair pitch-black.

This woman - with a beauty that always captivates -
now stands, a pistol in her hand, and there steadfastly waits.

Told the man that she adores (who left some time ago)
lies buried here, the woman’s come, for Raven has to know!

She can’t believe that he could be here in this place of doom.
He’d left for war before they’d barely been a bride and groom.

Raven looks out on the sea of mist; her eyes have teared
because those birds that bear her name have suddenly appeared.

A sign it has to be, she thinks. The ravens drawing near
are circling above one stone. Her heart is seized with fear.

Raven walks to where the birds are circling above.
She pales. . . The stone she’s reading bears the name of her true love.

The fog, a sea engulfing all, has swallowed Raven too.
Gun raised, she drops down to his grave; she knows what she must do.

Andrea Dietrich

Inspired by the Contest "Among the Dead"
Sponsored by Constance ~ A Rambling Poet ~


Details | Name Poem |

Alana Dulcita

Once in a forest, a long time ago, there dwelt a young maiden, bright, sweet and fair. Flowers she wore in her long wavy hair, and each day she’d vanish into gloaming’s glow. Alana Dulcita was this young maid’s name, a name that fell sweetly from everyone’s tongue. The townspeople loved her -both old and young, yet nobody knew from where the girl came. They only knew that, at the end of each day, with sun dipping downward into the west and sky splashed with colors Alana liked best, was when, as if magically, she’d slip away! “Where does she go?” all the villagers asked, “And how does she leave us so quietly that not even one of us ever can see? Has some kind of spell on our dear girl been cast?” Spell or no spell, the young maid had powers as into the woodland she fled and then donned a gossamer gown, hidden well near a pond surrounded by beautiful flowers. She peered into water after she’d kneel as a lovely face gazed back at her. In this perfect moment, what should occur but, like magic, the girl became real! Her filmy silk gown would blend with her skin, shrinking into a stem, and her face changed into petals till soon not a trace remained of the form that a human lives in. Alana Dulcita, her real self again, breathing lilacs’ and lilies’ sweet scent, would bow her fair face, a flower content, to repose by the pond with her kin. Awaking at dawn, renewed, she’d return to the town where they loved her so well, keeping the secret she never could tell of youth’s beauty for which humans yearn. She’d never grow old as long as she had a place of seclusion where she might go to water around which bright flowers could grow, for this is what kept the soul of hers glad! Never to marry and never to stay too long in one place, she’d always move on. Beloved she would be till the day she was gone. This, for Alana, was the only way. Alana Dulcita, where did she go when forests grew small and lake beds grew dry? Did the fair maid eventually die or is she still sleeping where bright blossoms grow?
Note: The name Alana means "the bright fair one" in Gaelic or "precious; awakening" in Hawaiian & "Beautiful dear child" in Irish/ the name Dulcita is Latin for "sweet." Written by Andrea Dietrich & Inspired by the "Reflections" Contest Sponsored by Constance La France ~A Rambling Poet~


Details | Name Poem |

Rivers of intense reverberations

Wind Wind whistle,Blow his name up in the sky,where it belongs.
Blow his name amongst the Stars,where radiant angels play their
golden harps and Faries play their horns.
Clouds,Clouds,be his cushioned pilows,the place where he can rest.
Moon,Moon shine his darkened night,and be his rocking cradle nest.
Crickety Crickets play  in clattering melodies,as raindrops fall in
tick tick waltz on the dancing trees in wafting breeze.
Handsome red chested cardinal,open your wing of passion to your
silky whitye pure dove,as the wind blows her to your shelter,
Sing for her the song of love.
Wind Wind,whirl again and blow his name up in the sky,above all 
Greek gods,above highest of the high,where she holds him,
till all crushing waves,wild tides and oceans die.


Details | Name Poem |

My good name

if my good name means keeping face with those who are not so good 
strip my flesh of my good name and let me be not misunderstood 

if my good name means putting on a facade to indulge the higher ups 
then lower me below the lowest and empty my deceitful cup 

if my good name means being nice to appease your sensibilities 
then strip me of my good name and arm me with accountability 

if my good name means betrayal to soul, self and spirit 
then silence my good name because i don't want to hear it 

if my good name means i have to tell myself a lie 
then to hell with my good name i'd rather tell the truth and die!!!!!!


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