Home » Poems » Best » Poems

Best Poems Poems | Poetry

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

Search for Poems poems, articles about Poems poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Poems poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

New Poems Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Poems poems are below this new poems list.

Should Poems Be Understood by Prefernotto, Iwould
Poems are Blood and Bone by Prefernotto, Iwould
I Have Poems In Me by Fel, Fel
my little poems by parker, cs
The soul Errand and other poems by Ridwan, Saheed
I LOVE not writing poems, sometimes by Deo, Anil
Poems With Very Little Words Stunt My Growth by Dust , Pixie
I love Number Poems and a number of Poets here by Deo, Anil
Wretching Reading My Poems by Horn, James
The Newest Poems By Mario William Vitale by Vitale, Mario

View all new Poems Poems

The Best Poems Poems

Details | Poems Poem |

POETRY FOR POETS: i own this- edition

Well hopefully you've read the last "Poetry for Poets", now here's the one I wanted to write, enjoy...

POETRY FOR POETS 
(I own this- edition)

Poems
more organic than fertilizer
rooted in the **** of life
manure

Some grow wild
seeking their light
through a gnarled thicket
of images
and symbolism.
Ill watered
or sprayed with chemical defoliants
they strangle themselves,
few
managing to blossom.

Manicured
Poems thoughtfully precisely planted
to achieve optimum yield
banquet

			though occasionally
		poems require		to be forged
	beaten into shape
like a horse shoe
with a few holes
	accurately placed
		ensuring they		will be nailed
			to their purpose

Pruned
dead words and metaphors 
selectively snipped away
stunning display

There are times when it’s best to live with your poetry
Cover yourself with its words until they stretch and become sloppery
For its comfort increases as the stanzas begin to fray
Patched elbows illuminating what you intend to say
And eventually you’ll have a poem to slip into by the fire
To savour with hot chocolate as it ignites your desire

Poems
more organic than fertilizer
flourish when tendered
with love

Details | Poems Poem |

A strange claim
Of a man of passion
Of kindness
He said
Let the children come to me
For what man would refuse the smile
The innocence of a child
He parted his kindness
His wisdom
His love of all tribes
Animal and man, felt the kindness of his eyes

His tears grew this world
His voice made all of us listen
He made fisherman, philosophers
He made masons run free
He sang to ladies of the night
With the wine from wells of passion
Caliphs and Abu Nuwas soon followed

Love belongs to no one tribe
No sect or religion
It’s the flower that seed's travels the globe
Like feathers floating in the wind

When you see a child with no food
A woman with no smile
A man with no home

You make a balloon or funny face
You grow a rose
You build a hut

Trust in the kindness underneath
It will kiss you on your death bed
You shall rise to the heavens
Knowing

You loved the universe

Notes: This is one poem that for sure can be peeled like an onion. First of all, I am working on a poem based on historical fact, and documents from the Vatican, that will serve no other purpose than to tell an age old story. Yes part of it takes place in current day Turkey.

Second, I have a friend who resides in Turkey, and we met over the internet, and over the years, have become friends. I know him to be kind, to all people and animals. We are simply friends that have shared stories, laughter, and hardships at times. Whether someone lives next door or half way around the world, true friendship and honor is hard to find. You can not give it or receive it. You can only both earn it over time.

No man is perfect, we are what we are, but when you see a world in turmoil, as we do these days, maybe this small event or moment carries weight. I myself am not so nice. So then I must say this, My friend Volkan is, not to me, but to countless people. A smile and kindness costs nothing, and the world needs more of this richness.

Everyone these days talks of how technology is ripping apart society and this may well be true, but this is a choice we all make, technology is merely a tool. One can also use it to build bridges and friendships.

Normally I would be shy to give such praise, however events have taught me that, its better to speak good words than be silent.

Thank you, for helping building a better world!

Details | Poems Poem |

I Write A Poem

I write a poem that will entertain the world.
A poem that will fade someone's fear.
The one that will inspire you to smile.
Something that can make you out of mind.

I write a poem for lovers and friends,
To describe the feelings, how is love moves the earth.
A poem that encourages deads to live.
To keep the sun shines over the fields.

I write a poem that makes the whole world read.
A sentimental of a heart from lover who left.
The adventure of a man who travelled the lands and seas.
The agony of a woman who lost her baby.

I write a poem....
Until my ink gets dried.
Until the sun meets the horizon.
'til there's no tears fall in my eyes.

I write a poem...
To fall in love once more.
To hold the hand of a new lover,
To see the stars, the moon in full bloom.

I write a poem....
Until the last leaf falls in tree.
Then my life fades in the shadow of eve.
And every memories be left in dreams.

I write a poem....
Please care to comment and sealed with  a kiss.
Choose one or two to be your favourites.
And dont forget, fave the author of masterpiece. =D



** 2nd Place Winner in Poet Destroyer aka Linda's Contest: Any Poem #28 **

Details | Poems Poem |

''silence sweet solitude''

 
the solitude
the silence
silence of a bee in the forest
silence of the leaves
leaves on majestic trees
leaves my soul quivering 
quivering treasures
quivering happiness and joy 
joy of freedom and journeying on
joy in my soul beyond time
time entangled in vines
time to pause in the emerald
emerald windswept meadows trembling 
emerald velvet foliage creeping 
creeping and creeping the embroidery of green
creeping sunlight fills the shadows 
shadows are where the violets sleep
shadows hide a hundred chirping wings
wings of the poets dreamy muse
wings of a little butterfly kissing the decay
decay in the tangled branches
decay beautiful and divine
divine tufts of yellow
divine bliss in silence
silence in the garlands of green
silence in hushed echoes
echoes of unseen songsters
echoes of wild streams bubbling and flowing 
flowing pen
flowing words and verses
verse amongst the scattered dandelions
verses in the whispering calm 
calm the clusters of vines twining
calm the bliss
bliss in a deep canopy of towering giants
bliss under an azure above
above the cowslip and foxglove
above blue birds fly
fly downy wings
fly with the sweet wind
wind that whispers in my ears
wind that lifts the tufts of pretty flowers 
flowers wilted and dying
flowers with petals forlorn
forlorn my poetic words
forlorn and weeping 
weeping on tattered paper in solitude
weeping poems and rhymes and verses
created in the silence 
solitude  . . .  


_______________________
May 23, 2015

Blitz



Submitted to the contest, shhhhh , sponsor,  Silent One 

8th Place

Details | Poems Poem |

Tell Me A Tale

Tell me a tale of humanity
Paint me the love of your life
Show me a path to humility
How a man should honour his wife.

Help children believe in magicness
Describe the warmth of a smile
Feelings invoked by happiness
A tree that’s been watching a while.

Explain the pain of solitude
Gift me the smell of a flower
Tease me with dreams of magnitude
Sights that are seen from a tower.

Convey the sound that a river makes
Define your fear of the dark
Textures and tastes of a freshly cut steak
A walk with your child in the park.

Interpret the touch that a lover leaves
Recount the flaws of your youth
Depict a man with his heart on his sleeve
Confront and search out the truth.

Weave me a yarn with your poetry
Spin me with poetic release
Take me away with ingenuity
Fill my mind and my soul with your peace.

Details | Poems Poem |

Dear Men

Dear men,
Explain to me why I stand alone. 
Women are quick to uplift their father, sons, and brothers
Quick to maintain the home,
But when she needs support,
A woman stands alone
Explain to me why a woman has to stay in her “place”
Is there no room for a woman who is more than a pretty face?
Is there no room for a woman who can stimulate you intellectually
Or is it a woman’s only duty to please you sexually?
Explain to me why beating a woman gives you power
It gives you strength
Is masculinity so fragile
That you can’t maintain?
Without getting pleasure from pain
Explain to me why your brother goes scott free
When he takes advantage of a woman
While she is left to be ridiculed, blamed
As society throws dirt on her name
And she falls victim to her own demise.
I despise
The men who are so oblivious to their own privilege
That they think patriarchy is normal
Excuse my language 
As I speak a bit informal 
For you to understand
That you cannot catcall me as I walk down the street
It’s disgusting and demeaning
No I am not obligated to give you my number
Just because you ask and think you are getting a pass at me
No I don’t need you to hold the door open or carry my groceries
I am a strong, independent woman and your belief that I am weak
Is insulting
No I do not have to give you my body just because you bought me a drink
My body belongs to me
No matter what you tell yourself or think
Dear men,
You can no longer say that you are ignorant to my issues or my demands
Because I have clearly listed it for you to see.
Now only a real man
Will know, that women deserve equity

Details | Poems Poem |

For My Children

You’re all in charge of authoring a story
Of love and humor, suspense and glory
You’re writing starts with your very first thought
And doesn’t end til your life is naught.

Know, My Dears, these books; your own
There are no cowriters; authors unknown
Flip those pages and make your quills dance
Miss no opportunities, take a chance

If somewhere in those thick tomes of yours
You have questions “whys and what fors?”
Do not ponder and then overthink
For there’s no such thing as permanent ink

There will be some tearstained pages
Most likely in your middle ages
There will be words you’d like to forget
Or phrases in which you may regret

But when it reaches the golden stage
The best of the story in a later page
Grab a pencil and throw some sparks	
And don’t be afraid of eraser marks

Then once it’s written and you do find
There was a time of hurt when life’s unkind
Go ahead and toss out awful chapters
Because Momma loves Happily Ever Afters

Details | Poems Poem |

We are the Children

We are the Children

Bombs fall from the sky
The little children wonder why?
The night is mixed with blood and tears
Screams that deafen the little ones ears

In the name of what God or religion?
Is this killing seen to serve a mission?
In the name of what Tribe or Country?
We the children ask you humbly

We used to play and run all day
Now we hide fearing bombs come our way
The days we wander in search of foods
Hiding from soldiers intent on blood feuds

Bombs still falling from the sky
The pain and terror, when shall we die?
There is a gun on top a dead soldier there
I myself ended this pain that I could not bear

The bullet saved me from more despair

Details | Poems Poem |

Where Poetry Lives

 His  poems live deep down in the wood
down in an olde hunting lodge
They are brown as the bears head that 
hangs on the wall
brown as the dark leaves that fall
silently hiding the salt lick
from fawns who come in
the twilight to call
His poetry growls and grumbles and purrs
like a cougar alone on the rim
of the canyon above the olde
hunting grounds
where he writes all his lines
like a hymn
His poems stretch out on the furs
by the fire
and tell of the storms and the waves
that tested the strength of the words
that inspire
and sent many songs to their graves
for brave are the sagas
the odes that survive
the trek through the woods to the town
and as we go home we gather them up
scattered like leaves on the ground.
Brown,yellow,red ,a few of them green
His poems are places and things we have seen
but not from the view that the truth hunter gives
deep down in the woods ,where  poetry lives

Details | Poems Poem |

Five Stars

*Dedicated to Andrea Dietrich, Caleb Smith, Isaiah Zerbst, Anne Currin, and Eileen Ghali

I'll start with illustrious Andrea,
our talented sonneteer.
She peppers our poems with kindness, 
with comments so bright and sincere.

Next, we have Mr. McCaleb,
our sweet gent from Arkansas
From KOs to boogers to nature,
he writes without limit or flaw.

Now, I must turn to Isaiah,
the master of meter and rhyme.
His poems are most reminiscent
of forgotten ages in time.

I cannot forget our Queen Anne,
who graces us all with her songs.
Her lyrics tug at our heartstrings, 
yet she's upbeat, lovely, and strong.

Last but not least is Eileen,
the most spirited poetess.
She translates feeling to verse
and writes with such skill and finesse.

Details | Poems Poem |

Man and Woman

                            She is                                          He's                             
                          a woman                                      a fine man
                       with a pretty                                  within his big
                        face and an                                 head, he has a
                         attitude of                                     simple plan. 
                            purity                                          To woo her
                             and                                                 and to
                            grace.                                               soothe
               She has strong shoulders,                         her as much as
            where you can rest your head                     he can.  He gives
           between two succulent boulders.               from his heart as he
          She has wit and charm. With such                has from the very
          grace       she is surely        armed.             start. It's all in his
          Your        heart she will         take.              nature to reach out 
            But     she'll be your best      mis-            his hand and take her.  
             take. Her hips sway as you feel                But somehow as you 
                  your heart carried away.                  have seen, there's much
                  In no time at all you will      standing in between. He knows
                   feel her heat from your      he must alter his approach, gets
                      head to your feet.                          her a golden broach. 
                      When you're amid                           His legs start to
                      fleshy        thighs,                            quiver as her
                       you'll          emit                                 thighs                        
                       sexy          sighs                                make him
                       but             you                                  shiver. 
                       will             see                                  Yes she
                       what           they                                 yearns
                       all do          see,                                  him so,
                       a girl           that                                  but he
                       is so            very                                  might
                      womanly.       A woman in                      never        
                       three letter     high stilletto.                   know.                   
                        t                   t                                 because
                        o                  o                          she has to go.
   abcdefghijklm e nopqrstuv   e wxyzabcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyzabcdefghijkl


Contest:  Something Concrete
Hosted by:  Maureen McGreavy
Written 12/21/17

Details | Poems Poem |

Wax and Ink

Staying near to light my way
     now that there is no more day
You're needed to so brightly burn
     before to black ashes you return
Flames dance high upon your wick
     and fall across the well-worn brick
Like those flames once in the hearth
     when you go out there is no rebirth
My mind alight with persistent thought
     beaming from an inspiration caught
In ink my quill takes another dip
     my eyes watch your melting wax drip
Furiously now my script does flow
     to finish the lines before out you go
I can do no more, there is no time
     my slowing pen can no longer rhyme
The ink still wet, not even dry
     as your glow continues to die
Words on the page begin to fade
     while creeping darkness starts to shade
Wax and ink overtaken by night
     and devours all your candle's light.

Details | Poems Poem |

Little ol' me


I wish I could write
like those others before me,
Byron and Shelley and old Edgar Poe

Flowery phrases
Thy love unforgetting,
chasing a raven as ink tends to flow

Follow a sidewalk
in Silverstein footsteps,
sit neath a tree as the apples appear

Doth O’ my feelings
O’er Midsummer stanzas
Dream thee melodic as words of Shakespeare

Maybe some thoughts
in a past tense creation,
deeper in meaning like Sylvia Plath

Or Robert Frost
and the nature he touches,
meandering off through the trees down a path

Emily Dickinson,
aprons and daisies,
words overflowing the tea kettle rim

And let’s not forget
“The man”, Leonard Cohen,
what I would give if I could write like him

Neruda, Longfellow,
Kipling and cummings
so many thoughts in their own point of view

Taking our minds
to assorted locations
every piece speaks of something quite new

So many poets
who weave inspiration,
any or all I can just hope to be

But here I am
just writing my verses,
I guess I am stuck being little ol’ me



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



And here’s a few more,
some you might know
Who inspire all
when their ink it does flow

Charmaine, Paloma,
Heidi and Dee
Victor and Daniel
Catie, Laniey

Holly, Alexis,
Mystic and Rick
Maurice, The Seeker
Eve and Tim Smith

Arthur and Freddie
James, Jo and Jan
Nette, Laura Loo
Broken Wings, San

And so many others
I’ve met on this site
Who each day inspire
this poet to write

If I have forgotten anyone, I apologize. I am still quite new here.

Details | Poems Poem |

Jan Allison

A poem in honour of a lovely lady named Jan,
She writes poetry but was never sure about her talent.
She didn't think that she could do it 
but now she knows she can.
I wanted her to embrace poetry 
and learn to have faith in herself,
to write and show her work,
not just to leave it on the shelf.
She's in her element now she shares,
in her words it shows she cares.
Her feet barely touching the ground,
The bonus too, is undoubtably,
the great friendships that she's found.
It's truly wonderful to see my friend 
stretching out her wings
and enjoying all the benefits
sharing her poetry brings.

Details | Poems Poem |

WORDS

Words can be as deadly as a knife
It can penetrate straight through your heart
Bleed all the spirit right out of your life
Twists your mind and tear you apart

Words can bring you pain and sorrow
Weaken the spirits of today and tomorrow
Breaks your heart and squeeze your head
Leave you living yet leave you dead

But words of love from the very start
Can instill much happiness to your heart
Eased your pain and comfort your mind
Have you seeing yet have you blind

Details | Poems Poem |

Sickbags

Troop-troop-a-troop, into line, bright-eyed poets,
There’s one way to write now! We’ve told you! You know it!
Don’t mention your heart or your soul, don’t go aching
Or rhyming, or metring, or feeling or breaking
the rules! There are RULES! Did you not get the email?
Don’t make pretty stanzas, you cretins, you’ll derail
the cold, sniffy wagon of leading-edge writing,
You simile sinners! We’ll not be inviting
such boneheaded blah-bags of beauty to dinners,
Don’t look at the shortlists! Don’t talk to the winners,
who spoke of their sadness through sickbags, urinals
and corpses and dentures and came to the finals
In irony-beards – look at you with your normal!
You speak of your children – unspeakably awful!
Who wants to read that! You are scrap-heap deluded,
See, NO-ONE got published by rhyming like you did,
Or, even worse, laughing... don’t laugh! We want litter
and entrails and filth, we want messed up and bitter!
Your poems are passé; you ought to destroy them...
What do you mean, people seem to ENJOY them?? 

 
 
29 October 2018
For Creative Conformity Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless

Details | Poems Poem |

I dreamed a dream of You

Yesterday I dreamed a dream,
that had no end.
You in your white gown, and long, black hair flowing.
You were calling my name.
I heard you, but I couldn't reach you!

And when I say your soul was tainted.
You went out in the night life.
You dressed in your black, evening ball gown.
You danced till the Red Sun came out, over the horizon.

You smiled at me.
A flame in my heart burned red hot!
My knees and hands shook with nerves;
Nerves of love and joy.
I blew you a kiss,
but you turned away!
Oh, please don't turn away from me,
for I would die, if it happened again!

Your beautiful and golden heart showed me the truth.
The truth that every gentleman wants to hear.
I've seen you walk the streets,
in the blue dawn of August.
As I followed you, you stopped and looked at me.
You smiled so beautifully, and my heart fluttered into oblivion!

You walked with your friends and I went my way.
I couldn't find a single trace of you that day.
I cried out "Why did I leave her like this?!"
I looked for you, all over the courtyards and town squares!
Yet no sight of your beauty.
... No sight of your golden heart, that I hold so dear to mine.
Where did you go?
Why did you leave?
Why did I leave... that is the question!

I should have stayed by your side,
till the ends of time.

Yet I had left.
Why...?

One gloomy and parish midnight.
I came along a road,
and soon found myself in front of a wayward cafe.
Smiling faces all around me.
I spotted a beautiful face that outstood all the other faces around me.
It was yours.

Your face brought me to sanity and I went over too you!
You spotted me and tried to run!
I caught you in the dirty hallway and pulled you in.

Our eyes met and I fell in love once again.
Sanity re-entered my mind, body and soul.
I kissed you and you kissed back.
You held my hand, and we left the cafe and walked down the street.

The street was gloomy, yet we together brightened the dark street.
We went back to the lit up city streets, of the lands filled with smiling faces,
and we fell in love and slept together.

You lay there in my restless arms and I gave you a sweet kiss,
upon your sweet and soft head.
Your dark hair was sweet smelling and felt of silk.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep with you,
there in my arms and we dreamed together
till the morning came and woke me up,
and took you away from my weak and weary arms.

I dreamed a dream of you.

Details | Poems Poem |

Heinrich Heine Revisited

I can clearly sense your utter despair of Der Matratzengruft*
As you valiantly carried on your poetic works to the very end.
This did not change your literary accomplishments well-known,
And your courage through the misery and morphine* is undeniable.

Your lyrical poetry speaks volumes among all of German literature,
And it was most marvelously set to music by the likes of Schumann,
Schubert, Silcher, Mendelssohn, Brahms, and Strauss—to name a few. 
Their melodic tones as applied to your verses then, now live on forever!

Your role in and principal contributions to Romanticism fall in line
With the highest quality of your poetic language and its intention.
Your role in battling early nineteenth-century censorship in Prussia set 
You out front of many of your contemporaries who resisted much less.

It’s so tragic Herr Heine that your literary resistance so prominent in
Challenging Prussian censorship would make you ever so more noted,
And besmirched as the Nazis in 1933 burned your books and those of
Other German scholars as a reflection of their insane and twisted beliefs!

It’s with great irony indeed that the banning and burning of your works by 
The Nazis was parodied further by them as they ignobly quoted and used
Your famous line from “Almansor,”* when you likened that “where books 
Are burned, in the end people will be burned too.” We know what they did!

And so, with both honor and sadness I do understand the very cry of lament
From the confines of your mattress-grave about your final exquisite poetry,
Written through writhing pain and tears as you faced the end of your life.
It took great courage to face your end like this while staying true to your Muse!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (December 15, 2014) 
(Narrative Quatrain poetic format)

AUTHOR’S NOTES:
*Der Matratzengruft from the German means “The Mattress-Grave.” 
(Heinrich Heine was confined to his bed, his “mattress-grave,” in 1848
with various illnesses until his eventual death eight years later in 1856.)

*Heine poetically referred to his pain predicament in the poem “Morphine,”
written near the end of his life, when he noted in two famous verses: 
“Gut is der Schlaf, der Tod ist besser—freilich / Das beste waere, nie
Geboren sein.” (In English: “Sleep is good, Death is better—of course, /
Best of all would be never to have been born.”)

*Almansor was a play written by Heine in 1821 that had a most famous 
line in German: “Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo man Buecher verbrennt,
verbrennt man auch am Ende Menschen.” (Rendered in English: “That was
but a prelude; where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people as
well.”) The significance here is that as the Nazis burned the books of Heine
and other German artists on the Opernplatz in Berlin in 1933, they actually
celebrated this event by “engraving” Heine’s famous words from “Almansor”
in the ground at the Opernplatz site. The obvious depravity of this terrible
event reflects the innate cruelty, stupidity and evil of the Nazis as they 
burned the books and defiled the names and reputations of Heine and other 
famous German writers. Their actions were monstrous and shameful, and 
were indicative of mankind’s base instincts at their very worst. Moreover, 
despite converting to Protestantism from Judaism in 1825, Heine’s Jewish 
origins played a continuing presence in his life and were one of the major 
factors for his being scapegoated by the Nazis later in 1933. And besides,
the Nazis were always more interested in burning books, rather than 
reading them!

Best Poems Poems | Poetry

New Poems Poems

The Best Poems Poems

The World Needs Poetry

My Poems Are Children To Me

POETRY FOR POETS: i own this- edition

LIBERTY OF EXPRESSION is HERE

A Wordless Sky

We Push The Pen

Dear Quintain

On Poetry Soup

Jesus was Turkish

I Write A Poem

''silence sweet solitude''

Tell Me A Tale

Dear Men

For My Children

We are the Children

Where Poetry Lives

Five Stars

Man and Woman

Wax and Ink

Little ol' me

Jan Allison

WORDS

Sickbags

I dreamed a dream of You

Heinrich Heine Revisited