Pen Poets Poems | Examples
These Pen Poets poems are examples of Poets poems about Pen. These are the best examples of Poets Pen poems written by international poets.
The soul is his home,
detachment an intruder.
He is like a street dog
who sees rainbows.
A slate reflects life;
emotion exposed by a pen.
Pain and beauty cut deep.
No bandage can heal;
only words can complete.
TAKING ROOT
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A field of snow before the first footprint.
My hand hovers, a hesitant bird
above the frozen ground.
What seeds to scatter here?
What thaw to coax from the barren space?
A word takes root.
Another follows, tentative, green shoots
pushing through the icy crust.
It unfurls, tentative,
a fragile bloom pushing through concrete,
nourished by doubt and desire.
The pen, a conduit,
trembling at first, then finding its rhythm,
a dance between intention and impulse.
The page surrenders,
accepting the ink's embrace,
the birth of something new,
A poem emerges, breathing,
where only emptiness resided before.
By Poet "The computer is the delivery room for a new poem."
Pen, ink and paper join forces,
Opening up a wonderful story.
Everyone will enjoy reading,
My dancing words are now a poem.
"LISTEN to the Wind as it sparks your imagination giving life to the words you write." By Poet
LISTEN to the wind as it softy blows,
so soft it can barely be felt as I write.
As I find gentle words for my pen to write with,
words filled with love and peace for my reader.
LISTEN to the wind as it blows the leaves,
colorful fall leaves dance across the ground.
Now let my words dance in pretty fall colors,
dance across the written page for you to enjoy.
LISTEN to the wind as it blows in a storm,
winds are picking up with mighty power.
Powerful words can blow in both good and bad,
exciting my many readers saying, wow!
LISTEN to the wind as it blows in words,
windchimes will now start to sing to you and me.
Singing chimes and words can bring love to the air,
for a heavenly choir to sing out loud.
LISTEN to the wind as it sparks my writing,
and imagination giving life to my words,
making my readers celebrate what they have read.
As if by magic the words appear
like gentle whispers that I hear
they blend together like perfect paint
sometimes whispering ever so faint.
With each brush stroke or tip of pen
the magic flows like peaceful Zen
ink pirouettes upon my page
like a Prima ballerina upon her stage.
Stanzas created as words come to play
forming together like poetic ballet
sometimes moving with beautiful grace
sometimes running to another place.
Words dance and slowly unfold
like a ballet story that needs to be told
starting with a Plie, done with ease
Poems form and aim to please.
There may be days you want to stop
just like The Nutcracker was once a flop
but now it’s famous, shared worldwide
so keep on writing, chasse or glide.
Let words appear without the strain
gently does it, you don’t want pain
Choreography & dance all take time
never rush performance or rhyme.
P-owerful tool wielded by writers and poets
E-choing inner emotions and thoughts in silken words
N-estling amiably between deft fingers
.!.
/!\
II
II
II
II
II
(II)
(II)
(II)
@@
##
@@
::::
@
@
THE ARTIST’S WAY*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*You can write into the air.
You can speak upon a page.
A painting can be a novel.
A story can paint the perfect picture.
Dance can express deep emotion.
Emotions can stir deep movements with a chance observer.
We dream in deep metaphors and visual puns.
We weave them into stories that speak to our very souls.
Artists tell those stories with or without words.
That is the artist’s way.
*Note: Poem originally written for Pen Women Magazine, a publication for the members of the National League of American Pen Women (NLAPW) 9/27/23. (nlapw.org/2023/09/27/featured-poem-the-artists-way).
*Some words abstracted from descriptionari.com
In ghazal all my thoughts I pen cannot,
In plain palpable words explain cannot.
I loathe many a thing in this woke world,
All I dislike, detest, disdain cannot.
Yes, oft if not always I show feelings
But spell cannot, pretend or feign cannot.
I can call spade a spade, even shovel,
When it comes to pen, call it sane cannot.
It’s too late to change the man born long ere,
What God has given not regain cannot.
___________________________
Ghazal | 19.08.2025 | poem, pen, poet
Note: Let me add here: and whatever I well can, the poetry site let me cannot.
They built this world for the other hand,
Every door, every tool, every scissors command.
Ink smears across my palm like war paint,
While spiral notebooks mock me with their constraint.
But I am the mirror breaker,
The rule shaker,
The one who writes backwards
And dreams in reverse.
Ten percent revolution ninety percent poetic evolution
I am the southpaw standing alone
Against a kingdom of clockwise clocks
And right-turn locks.
My hand moves left while the world turns right,
I am the shadow boxer in broad daylight.
Every signature is an act of defiance,
Every handshake, civil disobedience.
They say I'm sinister—
From the Latin for "left"—
But I am the artist
Of beautiful theft,
Stealing moments of pure rebellion
With every stroke of my rebellious pen.
I am differently commanded.
So here's to the lefties, the rebels born,
Who face each day like breaking dawn,
Carving our paths through a backward maze,
We are the 10 percent uprising,
The minority surprising,
The ones who reach across our bodies
To write our own stories.
QUESTIONS POETS AND WRITERS ASK
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On my laptop’s screen, words twist and twine,
I ponder, “Is this plot truly mine?”
With a character's frown,
Will my story break down?
Or will sadness and joy combine?
As I scribble, “What rhymes with orange?”
I chuckle, “Should my hero be foreign?”
With a coffee mug in hand,
And a notebook quite grand,
I wonder, “Should my villain be boring?”
“Is this twist too much, or just right?”
“Will they cheer, or will they take flight?”
With each question I pen,
I just laugh twice again,
For the joy of it all feels quite right!
7/14/2025
Humane?
You pen with shame!
Selling your dignity?
Tell me, why trash your only voice?
No, thanks!
I'M a Poet
Listen! I'm a poet,cause
I'm got many hurts
From them ,never want to lose
So, I leave false dirts.
And pick up pen to express,
Never abuse them ,
I write to their happiness,
Pray, with saying their name.
Alright,I don't love like a poet,
I'M a poet who loves you!
And that love more great
Than a poet whom know you.
Remember! loyalty exist in pain,
Pain in me ,my love is y'ur real gain.
Hello
I have emailed each winner and have not received email replies except from 11 of you. Please reply via email as soup mail deletes after six months. Also it is already a challenge matching poets names with email and poem as some vary using pen names. I am giving you time as I know life is busy and holidays occur. I don’t want to include any one’s poem who doesn’t email purposely to be sure of your intent to be published in book form.
I will wait and will send you each a copy of your poem before printing it. Thanks for your support and contribution of your poem.
To take a thought and shape a poem
Takes patience, and a clue –
The patience for the diligence
Required of a muse
The clue for clever subtleties
Engaging poets use
To form connections yet unformed
Reveal with clarity
The mysteries that men have known
Throughout the centuries
Unraveled with apparent ease
In fonts of industry –
To trace the riddle of a thought
Decrypt it as it bends
To find epistles in a phrase
And coax it from a pen
One finds a poet at his craft
Plying, with keen intent
The words with which to move the earth
And all the universe
I sit and ponder, allow my mind to wander
And wonder about what I ponder
Then put pen to paper, begin to scratch and scribble
Hoping endless hoping that someone will read my dribble
And then reading perhaps exclaim
“This poem deserves acclaim”
crickets
Ahh, what’s a poet to do
But ponder through and through
Then wander further afar
Find a wonder so bizarre
And purchase a better pen?
Or find a muse now and then?
crickets
Philosophical I suppose
The writing of great prose
But my reason has deserted
And my talent’s been diverted
So I scribble more rhymes
And then try to bide my time
crickets