Quill Poems - Poems about Quill

O emptiness of space, thy harpsichords. Whole? Panels out of place, looking-glasses smashed. Bitter winds, thy frost. Sickness, dole, O soul. Chaffy grain beneath the tired thresher slashed. Turmoil, tamarisk tree. Toil? Thunderbolt. Hated are the days of life gone dry. Why? Reality thinned, then forgot how to fly. Happy thoughts, lost. Cost? Harvest season molt. Protection? None. Been and done. Sun? Hostile. Yellow...

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The quill this evening is not a mere instrument, but a primordial beast, A lacquered leviathan with a tip sharp as obsidian fangs, Its body coiled like an ouroboros, devouring its own ink in vengeance, It struggles under my grip, a relic of extinct empires, growling glyphs older than rivers. When I dare to drip her name on parchment,...

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Written: February 17, 2025 for Contest by Joseph May ********************** Stalking dark bloom at night Quick, lithe out of sight Prowling stealth, jump right Hushed, no sound at all Felt lost, loped through wall Hared wild, can't...

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On Devil’s Night There once was a devil queen on Whispering Lane Mean and cunning her crew driven insane For millenniums hurling malice Content in her palace Casting a malevolent muse throughout her reign The King no longer amused by sonnets that shame Concoction’s of besmirchment tangents that defame He sends for his men Calls out to them bring me an enchanted...

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Patience meets a quietude of Rosewood, a quill twixt fingers, held in the left hand. The trophy collector shares his boyhood, as a quill fairs right assign no men's land. A quill twixt fingers, held in the left hand. A hallway clock grows in the midday sun, as a quill fairs right assign no men's land. Two men stand, no one out,...

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Oh ,my dear very beautiful goose quill, How do you come before my reading room?, ...

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With brittle quill the page is torn No longer words of passion born The poet slowly wilts and dies Lays down his pen and softly sighs Like petals of an aging flower That withers more from hour to hour In mourning of creative death Eloquence draws its final breath ...

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if I am unwell bring me parchment where I lie if I do not answer put a quill in my hand my lines will speak for me the ink will form the thoughts from emotions that fill my head I beg you decipher the strokes that I attempt to write simply but if the markings seem like riddles make sense of the whole by embracing the...

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In the beginning, there was only sound The whispered words of God, echoing all around A canvas of darkness, awaiting the stroke Of creation's brush, as the universe awoke With syllables of fire, He spoke the light And stars were born, in all their celestial might Gas and dust coalesced, in a swirling dance As planets formed, in a majestic trance In the...

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With my solution upon my parchment bright I conjure worlds where imagination takes flight The ink flows free, a wondrous, winding stream As letters spin forth, fabricating words unseen A tapestry of meaning, rich and vibrant, is gleaned The poet's craft, a magic, all its own, is spun Within the story, rhythm and rhyme find its time A symphony of language, a...

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Never have I used such a word as quill in my verbose verse, even when bleeding ink in nightmare night, nor when tripping light fantastic beyond fair golden sunsets; O' come sail away, O' come sail away, O' come sail away with me on the good ship Lollipop where bon-bons play on the beach of Peppermint Bay, or a night trip~ we shall dream awhile in pure purple prose....

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The quill, once held by hand so strong, Now rests upon a dusty shelf, Forgotten tales, where they belong, No longer whispered to itself. Ink, once a wellspring, dark and deep, Has dried to flakes, a shadowed stain, The writer sleeps, a peaceful sleep, But though the hand may write no more, The words still dance...

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The writer's quill, a humble thing it seems, A feather plucked from some forgotten fowl, Yet dipped in ink, it spins a world of dreams, Where heroes rise and empires rise and fall. With every stroke, a tapestry unfolds, Of love and loss, of battles fought and told. It paints the scene with whispers, soft...

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I am an unvoiced breeze~ a sea warrior kite-surfing through heinous waves, knitting cobalt chronicles from smooth syllables~ tackling chaotic currents with chamomile magic unfurled from the silhouette of a Swarovski swan, immune to the screeching nails ...

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Hil’s Quill! Hilary’s anvil is not still, John is her forge & bellows, Ellie & Spencer, Melli, Will, Sam & Allie, Give Hil an answer to all, Hill Bill’s pinnacle to the cynical below, Her familial nest is the “Bee’s Knees”, The light to Hil’s candle, Deepens Life’s shallows, Who is Happy? She who in her own Rejoices! The news leads to thoughts of “Shamble”, Good...

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