Short Quill Poems
Short Quill Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Quill by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Quill by length and keyword.
Green quill glides down from gray sky
Sweet song sung soft on branch high
Is she cried for her lost love?
While he lay down, a grave sigh.
INK'S SILENT SPELL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
quill scratches parchment~
midnight whispers bloom to worlds
unseen, yet breathing
The reason the old man was sneezin'
Was not just the pollen of season.
He wrote with a quill,
O, yes, he did still,
Which ever his nostrils was teasin'.
HAIKU
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a guided quill
filled with emotion… passion...
porcupines defence
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
#quill #porcupine
Meet me by the fountains brink
bring your quill and maybe ink
for you are all ones that blink
20, 40 count them all
but watch your step
as you may fall.
Inkwells,
vein of the Quills,
scribing upon parchments,
heavy laden with dark secrets,
blotted
Date: 23/04/23
Traditional Cinquain poetry contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There once was a beautiful quill named Jill,
Who scoffed at my ink-filled will~
She would splatter and sneer,
Yet scribe nothing clear,
That stubborn old pest of a quill!
Not
Quite
Day
Not yet
Night
Luminous
vibes
Abstract minds
Cruise to fuse
Words of
wonder
Cruise to fuse
Song to send her
Express a verse
Dancing lyrical
Up and down
In and out
Soul Reflections
In love
From me
to you..
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
DIPPING MY QUILL IN MOON-INK
Lantern swings, overhead, in brilliant thought
Moonglow tickles the writer’s plumage
Nightingale’s nom de plume
Opus tweets out sweet lyrics.
Recklessly romantic in clinging full-length nightgown
9/30/2017
Sara Kendrick's Let's Do Some Alphabet Contest
From amber quill of daylight’s wane,
warmed honey clouds sketch mirrored swells.
Bronzed seagulls dipped in twilight’s train;
from amber quill of daylight’s wane.
In fluttered mass, a golden vein,
lifts from the waves in sunset’s spell.
From amber quill of daylight’s wane,
warmed honey clouds sketch mirrored swells.
Quills of sharp tips stick
makes difficult to remove
overlapping scales
keeps prey under threat
encounter to enemies
God gifted weapon
His words are teasing to the senses
his mind seeming a wondrous retreat
he makes me feel defenseless
and it becomes difficult to breathe
I have never met him
but he makes me ever-so restless
this woman who is ruled by true greatness
with passion generated through timeless written passage
satisfying all of her needs by the weight of
the strokes of his quill
I write, it's my right
A fiery fire,
I pen with my pen
A daunting desire,
I scribe like a scribe
A wordless win,
I note in my note
A gainless grin,
I draft a final draft
A fortune found,
I record for the record
A solid sound,
I scrawl on a scroll
A silent sign,
I script a new script
My wonder wine.
08.16.2020
Take thine quill,
and with it write,
countless tales,
in black and white.
Tales of lost kids.
far from home,
feathered monsters,
dwarfs and gnomes.
Star-crossed lovers,
ill-gotten fate,
war torn kingdoms,
fuelled by hate.
So why then I,
quill firm in hand,
find my thoughts,
among the sand.
But truth be known,
the poets' lark,
does often sing,
when all is dark.
10.18.2022
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.
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 abstract you see
the patterns and rhythm will reveal
a portrait of my naked self
Reminiscing notes you sent from your peacock feather quill, kind editor
Embrace did I, your keen buoyancy, words whether grounded or surreal
Private musing you penned upon parchment brought tears of joy, mentor
Lavish poetry, and sage philosophy, taught my damaged soul to feel
Yearnings tormented, now calmed, a tranquil soothing from your gentle quill
Pour out
Pour out
' Saint seducing' ink;
Tell my life with this quill
For the tranquility in eternity
Beckons at me
To free my troubled soul
From the bondage of earth
Then I look up to you:
Be my relic
My vignette
Glittering on the wall:
The timeless wall of HISTORY,
Pour out!
The planets they have aligned,
but in my poem, you will not find.
Scented candles burn on my table,
and still, I am not able.
My quill is full, with blue ink,
my mind is free now to think.
Why has my muse abandoned me?
Cannot she see I wait ready?
As silhouettes dance in the light,
still uninspired to simply write.
Once my pen skipped freely,
in the meadows of poetry.
Written: November 3rd, 2025
************
A poet is more than a penman—
not merely a rash historian of verse.
We shatter the ordinary,
aspiring to the nirvana of heaven,
unwavering in the face of decay.
We explore the remnants of society,
discern the divine from the false,
cast aside the sustenance fed to tired souls
and build soaring meditations from ash.
Whitman wrote of a great Captain
Keats Ode A Nightingale
Frost took The Road Not Taken
Donne knew For Whom The Bell Tolls
Thomas raged against The Dying Of The Light
Like Poe's Raven they are Nevermore,
But their works live on evermore.
Writing is my world of silence
within my mind otherwise unseen
allowing freedom of thoughts
when written down are then exposed.
Letting my inner thoughts take flight
seeing words appear as my pen touches paper
releasing them from the web I hold
with fury, gaining great momentum.
Words pouring down like falling rain
upon the page within my sight
thrills my sense of adventure
my muse smiles, my hand obeys.
The bards met there on winter nights
to write about the sounds and sights,
of all the places they had been,
since they met last with all their friends.
Quills and ink wells,parchment too,
shared or squandered,
words come true,
thoughts and feelings
fill the air,
visions falling everywhere.
Scooping up bright inspirations,
from another's celebration,
of the wonders they have known,
and finding out,
you're not alone.
Of writing she's got it, simply read her writes
Lines flowing into lines her words delight
Intelligence with aplomb, crafted so
Viewing leads to smiles our eyes bestow
Elegance via quill, generates, grows
Each and every theme written by she
Launched by her mind to every degree
Outstanding use of forms I so agree
Interesting differences, learnings desired
Sharing others cultures, so inspired
A heart of hearts, that will never grow tired
.