Ink Poems - Poems about Ink

In all the books of history written with ink of blood and dried tears, There is no war that was not hatched in the shadow of palaces of power, Governments alone, like birds of prey sharpening their claws in silence, Independent of the hearts of people, for whom war is always poison. How many generations have marched on dusty...

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Black Ink part 2 Glide across the paper. Curious around the corner. Left to right. Through effort and striving. Influence. Stay focused. A velvet poem. Gothic ghost. Candles melting. Smoke rising. Another poem written. Spirits flying around. A ghost alone at the kitchen table. Alone writing a letter. A glance across the room. No sound...

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INK'S JOURNEY From quill to parchment in graceful arcs, ink tells tales from dawn till dark. Stories unfold in each little mark, a writer’s journey, a creative spark. ...

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INK WHISPERS The quaint but cluttered vintage bookstore is filled with tall walls of ancient volumes and stacks of books precariously balanced, making it hard to navigate down the aisles without fear of upsetting their balance. I pause, breathing in the stale, sun-warmed dust of a thousand stories waiting to be explored. I feel in some...

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Before The Ink Runs Dry Am I A Poet? I have written #800 poems. I thought I was an artist. Creative illustrations. Creative writings. Changes passed the horizon. I can’t see everything in front of me. A new chapter moving forward. We are writers. Deep thinkers. Until the ink runs dry. Always a pen in...

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Big leap from pencil Exclamation marks Scribbles and whorls Paragraph writing Not erasable A cartoonist Writer of prose Middle school Soiled fingers Permanent Poetry Penmanship Bluish Tattoo Ink...

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A blot of ink drifts right of center. It grows, devours— Pale pages consumed by raven. I asked the low, bruised sun if my life still counts when my pen scratches a scream— but no words ever made it out. My voice chases inked shadow drips—spread mourning...

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Black Ink Always a deep thinker. Old fashioned typewriter. Black ink on paper. Stay inspired. Through creative writing. Read in between the lines. The love of poetry. You can write freely. With a pen, this is your journey. Looking Outside the window, glistening city lights. Alone I may be. Writing with black ink always....

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Ink Stone Stone symbolizes. With a feather pen. Document literature. Writer through calendar. Amusing prevails. Clouds to wanderer’s. Pave the way. Penmanship worthy. Alludes to ink stone. Sequence sincere. A poet blossoms. Narrative through the dark. A lantern toward the ink. Hidden message through poetry....

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Will pens (I'd have to think when last I dipped mine in ink) and sad to say pencils go the dodo's way become extinct or obsolete (oh no) to the average man in the street as if it weren't for junk mail no matter how large or small never mind trees and ecology wouldn't have no mail at all when I was young still a nipper a lot more...

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A-ctive P-en R-elays I-magery, L-etting A-nother N-ame N-egate E-mptiness ©bfa042225 Monocrostic (Birthday of April Anne Daguio Miranda) ...

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Black And White We are given all the pieces to play and indulge in life’s great feast outrageous fortunes be dammed! Given full reign to Ego’s unfettered beast and the moves we make shall establish our legacy Why are we here? We can either dazzle with brilliance or baffle with bulls*it Shameless are unleashings of doubt only makes a lesser us grow inhibits our...

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I must allow..I am deeply impacted by the demenour, the Character" of Ink Empress." my expression i feel must be Expressed.' Or I would view myself.' As a most uncouth Inversion..' Of appreciation.? And of magnanimity..I would be without redress.' The most un-sufferable of fools' should I not make note of her calm And balance.' With great empathy.' Even much...

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"Paint with paint or paint with words." By Poet As a small child I loved to paint, finger paints brought my plain paper to life. As a teen my painting moved on, on to painting by numbers. In our first house I painted the many walls. Paints come in many pretty colors, some very bright like the sunlight. Paints can come in pretty...

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Seclusion forms into a mountain, Practice acceptance of my reflection, Eye contact with the water of a fountain. Time refuses to push forward if you stop counting, Acting seconds out loud, Life can never falter if I’ve got nothing to amount to. I’m trying to make sense of the seasons, Claimants of my portions try...

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