Write Poets Poems | Examples
These Write Poets poems are examples of Poets poems about Write. These are the best examples of Poets Write poems written by international poets.
I love discovering new poets so I click the new user link a lot
There are so many feelings on a page, lest that I’ve forgot
I feel excitement as I read the new one’s first line or two
Trying to find something positive, wanting to encourage too
If the poem is about sex or cutting, I stop reading it right away
They will find the readers, but I will not be one of them, okay?
If it is about suicide, I will skip that one also, believe me.
These kinds of subjects take away my happy energy.
If the poet is a beginner their rhymes may sound like a forced jot
I overlook this, knowing they’ll get better, experience does a lot.
I write something upbeat and exciting, to encourage poets who are new.
For when I began writing poetry, this was done for me by many of you.
SOUP TROUPE (CM)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
peer group, Soup group
write verse, scribe troop
My heart longs to have a poet
Willing to write with me a duet.
"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.
Poetry is in the air
in a toenail clip
in an icy slip
in the first gray hair
poetry is in the air
one need only to write
with a little, extra care
extra flare -- in the air,
oxygen to make word-spark
of both light and dark --
everywhere -- poetry!
Poetry does not belong to those who write it, but to those who need it.~Pablo Neruda
A blank page is the bane of all writers.
Examples that are written are blighters.
Frustration would stay.
A word that escapes you for the moment
to capture a perception, you lament.
You should step away.
It has been said that good poetry heal;
it expresses how many people feel;
but others might flay.
If a reader should find it a comfort,
I’ll ignore ever-present discomfort –
I won’t lead astray.
My fellow poet Ilene can write.
I look for all her new poems on this site.
To read her work is surely a delight.
Being a resident of New Jersey,
seeing how she expresses herself is easy.
Ilene is so adept at poetry.
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
That is right August 18,
Today Is National "Bad" Poetry Day.
To all the writers,
here is your chance.
Write something "Great,"
for the world to read.
How about,
National "Great" Poetry Day???
Remember a rhyme is to rhyme,
not kind of rhyme.
A Limerick is to be a five line funny,
not sad or depressing.
A true writer,
writes from their loving and creative heart.
AI writes,
but has no heart to write from.
Many have told me,
less words are more.
So I am stopping here,
so you can add to my list.
Have fun day writing away....
A human writer needs,
to think and many times rewrite their work.
We put our heart,
creativity and imagination into each piece we write.
AI has stolen,
the creativity and imagination from writers.
The human writer is the true creator,
creator from their human heart.
AI is the great copier,
because they have No heart to write with.
I write for the reader,
I am a human poet all the way.
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.
I learned what I fear today:
Intimacy. I can’t seem to face
my raw emotions bluntly; in fact
I despise them for being unpoetic
Why be vulgar and direct
when I can hide behind my
metaphors, my harbor; my fantasies, my
buffer—between reality and
my brain cells too proud to be seen
scattered, sprinkled all over—
well, nothing
Even this moment I struggle to simply
write: I’m messy. I’m hurt.
I’m lone and gloomy and primitive and violent.
I can’t speak of my love and hatred in
raw honesty, no—I must be filtered
so when I scramble myself undone on paper
I no longer belong to
me. I’ll be
safe, from me; an
outsider, from me.
Critics say a raw poem
whispers secrets like readers are old friends
But I have long forgotten,
how a girl usually lets her voice confess
My claim to fame is in your name
No other name will do
For if they all applaud me yet
I crave applause from you
No other praise will meet my gaze
No others words will do
For what they write althought alright
Was not written by you
No other face can dare erase
Your image in my mind
For though they all are very dear
You are one of a kind
No other line is as sublime
As this that you write down
For though their rhymes are really fine
Yours are a jeweled crown
No other touch can mean as much
As that from poet hand
For though the other words caress
It's yours that can command
No other speaks life to my heart
No other soothes the ache
For though their rhymes bring sweet relief
I stay for your dear sake.
Eileen Manassian
July 16, 2025
We all have poets that are special to us, poets that inspire the best in us, poets that keep us in this community. This is a tribute poem to such poets.
As we sit and type and stare at our screens.
At times we wonder what all of this means?
With our mouse we roam through poems like a maze.
Looking for something worthy of our praise.
We write of our hopes and tell of our woes,
Most of the time, not knowing where it goes.
We wait for the views and comments to see.
We try to share thoughts authentically.
Friendships begin with people we don’t know.
Some will flourish and continue to grow.
We freely give hugs and our blessings too,
And even sent soup mail to just a few.
Why is it on screen we can be so bold?
Telling our secrets that we’ve never told.
Why do we share the deep thoughts on our minds?
Others can see in through our opened blinds.
We have things to say and feel that we must.
So, we open our hearts to friends we trust.
To Poetry Soup friends, my family,
I have found the place where I’m meant to be.
7/14/2025
The splatter of sunlight on the azured-wall,
Does in soul- filled ecstasy brighten!
My soul to write in glory, an uplifting creation.
God, may all poets, their summered-words ,enlighten.