Real Poets Poems | Examples
These Real Poets poems are examples of Poets poems about Real. These are the best examples of Poets Real poems written by international poets.
The Last Poets
“When the revolution comes,”
Politicians whispered sweet lies,
promising dreams that were never theirs,
while streets echoed with dreams denied,
and voices drowned in blood-stained hope.
Economies built on the backs of the weak,
wealth for the few, while many stayed silent,
coins of gold pooled, but hearts went cold,
hands reached out but never united.
The Last Poets rhymes like Hymns
echoing in alleys,
fingers snap,
feet tap,
words meet the pulse,
the Congo thump lifts hearts,
raw and real,
hip-hop’s roots grow deep—
But what has changed,
in this swirling maze?
Do we still speak the truth,
shout over sirens,
dream beyond the neon flash,
with wide eyes,
still fighting, still asking,
for justice in our sound,
each voice a note,
every story a song?
As I sit up and lay in my bed
Poetry comes to my mind in my head
I write them down without hesitation
They calm my soul like frequent meditation
I love to read them after they are written
Because I shock myself with the words as they become sentences
People say you're talented, and that might be true
Their just words from my head, and it a great view
I can't believe it sometimes, the finishing touch seem so real
Some people don't like to read them, some make a big deal
But it's not all about what anyone thinks
This just brings joy to my heart, because I try to represent
“Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”
— Thomas Gray, Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
Well known or not, we write our poetry
Our inner souls reflected in our ink
Also influenced by our family tree
We every now and then cause some to think
The years pass by and then away we go
Well known are some, but others not so much
‘Tis easier to honor those we know
While unknowns by the wayside fall as such
Each unknown poet lived a real life too
Their love of verse sprang from their dear hearts’ wells
Their memory forgotten, but still true
For remembrance and respect we ring the bells
This tribute to an unknown poet’s life
Shows that we care and mitigates our strife
"It takes a real heart to write forevermore." By Poet
Here I sit with pen in hand,
staring at a blank notepad.
I need many letters,
to make my words come alive.
I thought I was a writer,
but as I sit here I wonder.
Poems come from the love of writing,
writing about the past or about the present.
Poems can be true or false,
some will make you cry and others will make you laugh.
True writers write from their heart,
as the ink rushes through their veins.
Now the words flow faster then I can write,
don't think, just write.
The writer and reader are both in love,
in love with letters, words, sentences and reading.
Now I am writing away,
forevermore.
When the well runs dry
What do you do, abandon all hope
Or do the work to dig deeper?
It’s natural for the familiar and repeated
To grow stale
The dissatisfaction is how we grow.
Knock, knock the joke goes
But the real joke is nobody knows.
(12/7/25)
Gold Medal Marathoner, Susan Ashley
Never can be accused of acting rashly
Carefully crafts each word, line, and stanza
Wowing us with her prolific poetry bonanza!
Silver Medal Marathoner, Craig Cornish
We applaud your brilliant marathon flourish
Bespoke wit and singular vision ascend
Your distinct voice ran strong to the end
Bronze Medal Marathoner, Michael Coy
Whose wit and humor we all enjoy
A Spaniard, perhaps—yet a Welsh-British New Yorker?
Whose layered literary allusions prove he's a real corker
I’ll never be a real writer it seems
For like apple cider it doesn’t agree
With me I can’t do all the various things
The forms the charms and near rhyming
But I can do I’ll sandy say of myself
I’m persistent passionate despite how I spell
Perhaps good writers aren’t perfect as well
Perhaps they never arrive and thrive being there
My real friends are people I will never meet
they are my tribe, my joy, my enthusiastic followers
I have no idea their ages, height, or weight
Here are things I do know about them
One of them likes to use high-falluting big words
words I am not going to bother to look up
One of them is always selling something
Wants me to buy this, that, and the other
I put her on my ignore list after she got overly zealous about it
There is a guy who wanted to know if I have a daughter
I have three of them, but they like choosing their own fellows
He is a nice guy, but the approval of mama is the kiss of death for a man
My real friends are people with whom I share my hopes and dreams
They know more about me than my own family
But probably not my dogs
Got my wrist watch smile
And my pocket watch clock
I've got a real sun dial
And a teal weather sock
My cellphone chimes my times
My compass rolls in truck
I keep a roll of dimes
I keep them round for luck
I hold my sextant tight
I follow starlight's sprawl
I swallow up the night
I can't find time to call
No matter who I'm with
I'm rolling round the rhymes
I'm one more man of myth
Just a man of the times
I once disliked poetry worse than math
going back further – than taking a bath
Shelley was for sissies and so was Blake
reading their verse was a king-size headache
But then along came Eldridge Cleaver, a real man’s man
his poetry faced down ‘whitey’ and the Ku Klux Klan
Poems came alive for me then, I read Castro and Che
Lenin and Stalin, Ayn Rand and Zane Zen
So now you know why I’m a big poetry guy
I can write about why civilization deserves to die
~ and no one ever asks why
Inspiring ways
It was a Poet who wrote
People thought the Poet was making a Joke
Proven fact, words became illustrate
A Journey in determination of partake
Poetry is more than just words
They are full of emotions like a smooth moving wave
Straight into the reading and hearing atmosphere
Guided by a Poet’s mind
Words that follow align
Poets keep it real being genuine
Simple and diverse
There is no rehearse
It is verse by verse
Words come like a dramatic script
Tis a Poet says, “Compose after compose with the moment from the start, Poets are committed and don’t depart from a mission of write”.
I have truly become fond of many poets here on Poetry Soup
And to be quite honest that has completely surprised me
l never believed a human connection could be made via a screen
Yet…. l have proved myself wrong completely
I do have a gullible soft hearted nature
Thus…. l am easily taken for a ride
So , l do question at times if ‘some’ of those connections are mutual
Or coming only just from one side
I hope these poets feel the connection as l do
And our cyber connection is honest and real
I would be sad to think otherwise
Disappointment and mistrust l would feel!
A poet dips and plants
till a green appears from
the tip of his pen
no wonder
the old masters used a deep
well of ink to troll
pierced their boils of necessity
for a word-ooze,
painful pricks causing flows
of relief the poet's booze
intoxication appears
a magician's cape and wand
not so unlike writer-diviner's
hidden streams
our bent twigs, real and deceptive
poet, physician and fond thief
gifted with a scalpel
of confounding mystery and applauded belief --
Windows of Poetic Winners
Are those who play and no, never quit.
In poetry, their words, to the heart are soft.
Never lifting themselves above you , alolft.
They are full of energy and never do sit.
True Friendship is in their poetic, tool kit.
Poets will read you, if you never read them.
Punishing those who don’t, is unknown to them.
Never leaving old friends with empty comment pits.
The more you give the better you feel.
But, no, I don’t value the internet over life.
Love your children, friends, husbands and wives.
Above all, just be your genuine self ~keep your
Touching words, true and real!
6/28/2024
"A Writer must Feel The Words So The Reader Can Feel The Words. By Poet"
Have you heard about this new thing,
this new thing called AI.
Is it friend or foe,
real or fake?
I was told it is a writer's best friend,
how can that be I asked?
AI is faster,
it has built in creativity.
WOW,
I replied.
It does not seem fair,
fair to the true writers.
I will never use it,
I write because I love to write.
My words are my words,
good or bad I standby them.
AI takes that away from the writer,
so why write?