Easy Write Poems | Examples
These Easy Write poems are examples of Write poems about Easy. These are the best examples of Write Easy poems written by international poets.
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.
Why I Write
He asks why I write
And I say I must
Because the words, you see
Flow as easy as blood in my veins
The pen as natural as the air I breathe
Without it, I explain
The maze of my mind couldn't handle it
He asks how I write
And I say that my method cannot be taught
For my words are etched into me, stuck to my skin
My story swept back like my hair, ready to come loose
If I taught him my way
It just wouldn't be the same
He asks where I write
And I say that it can be anywhere
Hidden in my mind waiting for a chance to be free
In the comfort of my bed, or the cold of a desk
Anywhere, I explain
I can write, as long as it comes ultimately from the heart
He asks who I write about
And I pause
My heart races faster than my thoughts have ever dared
My eyes soften like they've never been hurt before
I question his questions
As if it could be anyone but him?
It's easier to love, when
the worst case is having a
funny story to retell at bars.
It makes more sense to believe, knowing
truth left untold will never
make it into the final edit.
It's almost too easy to draw blood,
when I tell myself the red is just
footnotes in my forgotten tale—
It's a relief to be forgetful when
I know my mind will kindly
fog the heartwrenching memories...
It sometimes worries me
when blood runs dry on my sleeves
and pain settles into a quiet itch—
that the footnotes will
drown my voice in the margins...
But it makes pain less monstrous
when I live my story
as a seagull skimming through the water.
Why I Write
He asks why I write
And I say I must
Because the words, you see
Flow as easy as blood in my veins
The pen as natural as the air I breathe
Without it, I explain
The maze of my mind couldn't handle it
He asks how I write
And I say that my method cannot be taught
For my words are etched into me, stuck to my skin
My story swept back like my hair, ready to come loose
If I taught him my way
It just wouldn't be the same
He asks where I write
And I say that it can be anywhere
Hidden in my mind waiting for a chance to be free
In the comfort of my bed, or the cold of a desk
Anywhere, I explain
I can write, as long as it comes ultimately from the heart
He asks who I write about
And I pause
My heart races faster than my thoughts have ever dared
My eyes soften like they've never been hurt before
I question his questions
As if it could be anyone but him?
‘I found an explosive quill
down on the streets of New Orleans.’
It’s fun to share who I am and also learn from other writers. There was a discussion on the idea to let yourself get lost inside of another world. I made sure to speak a reminder of the inner child. The one who wasn’t jaded by their transformation as they got a little bit older. Remember to dream visit the sea occasionally. Another poet said ‘Let go of the restrictions of human eyes when you write. Speak to a smile unforgettable and a laugh infectious.’ Which reminded us of children, and how they color outside the lines. Make sure you say it how you want to. Slide down the stairs and destroy the box they try to throw you in. ‘Give yourself to your pen AND your deepest fantasies.’ I took that mantra away with me as I left the writers’s retreat.
Laced with Bald Cypress
my Muse tastes the Big Easy;
A sweet southern heat.
If I could write a poem to say everything I want to tell you
it would start with how I enjoy you next to me every day
How each day I wake, and life begins anew
And it would say how easy it is to be anywhere with you
If I could paint one mural to show every place I want to be with you
my painting would cover every building in the kingdom
geometric shapes would adorn the borders
Then these would link like you and I arm-in-arm together
If I could perform a song that you could hear how much I miss you
every bird would come one by one and sing to you
Their songs tell of my sorrow and how I look to tomorrow
When we will be happily together once again
A poem without a topic
That’s an easy thing to do
You’re a writer aren’t you - she said
As if to tame the shrew
The rhyming is just reflex
I’m nervous now you see
Maybe you’ll see through the words
Maybe, you’ll see me.
It’s easy when I write my poems to see which way my heart is leaning.
I tend to write about what gives my life its purpose and its meaning
Looking back over years of writing there is this tendency in me
to write about love, compassion, kindness, acceptance, my students,
my friends and my family.
To write about the beauty I find in nature…
her lakes, her rivers, her oceans and her seas…
her stars, her clouds, her mountains…
her animals, her butterflies, her bees.
From these I draw my inspiration…because
over the years my respect and admiration they have earned…
for all they’ve tried to teach me..and all that I have learned.
The the words of every poem I write is how I‘ve found a way
to thank them all for helping me be the person I become each day.
A person whose been blessed with a wonderful life
filled with its share of joy and laughter too…
and when I post my poems…I get to spread that joy to you.
I hope you find joy in the words of my poems
that every now and then you find them encouraging, inspiring and exciting…
but no worries if you don’t…
because
for me…
the joy is in the writing.
This is a seven minute write.
In seven minutes, I go to bed.
But first, I will continue.
When ghosts…
When roasts…
Go to bed.
Go away to the barn where hay is baled.
And trails of mud lead to the kitchen.
And the ramblings continue.
I have an eraser.
But to use it?
Would be destruction.
Gray matter.
Being shaved and marked.
I don’t know where I am.
In my journey of seven minutes.
I am not determined to do much except sleep after this.
I am not determined.
Just sleepy.
I have water by my bed.
I’m in pajamas.
They don’t care-
Carry me.
Like the way…
Like the way I don’t plan anything anymore.
Seven minutes is easy.
The end credits roll.
No one erases anything these days.
It’s not worth the time.
Seven minutes.
Eraser marks.
Where my car parks.
Everywhere.
Like lines.
That we draw.
And stand in.
Please write me a letter, tell how are you
Think of me please for a moment
You might not be interested but this is true
Without you life is a torment
I’m so devastated you wouldn’t believe
I can’t think of anything other than us
How did it happen that you chose to leave
Why did you display a mistrust?
I tried to be tactful as much as I could
But maybe you were so uptight
And tired as well, that you thought its no good
To continue with me every night
Maybe you laughed, thinking I’m still a child
But what if we are, to a certain extent
Little children, and maybe this helps to survive
Although we don’t see if it can.
Please write me a letter, forget what you feel
Bad always shows more than enough
You’ll be surprised how its easy and real
To write me a letter of love.
When the light dims
The man in the lunch café drank 3 tall glasses of wine
he spoke loudly trying to draw attention to himself
not that I'm an expert, but he was, clearly divorced and
on holiday on his own.
After his meal, which he didn't eat much of
had coffee and a liqueur, not having anyone to talk to, he fell
silent, looking sad, perhaps he had children, but he was not
allowed to see, that some women can be vengeful
As the café emptied, I felt I had to say something, but
my wife stopped me, saying you can't get rid of him
I know how lonely life can be, no one wants to know
you are an embarrassment to others
To be middle-aged and alone is not easy the happy
days of youth is over, the bell rang and clear this morning
when I tried to contact a childhood friend he has
Alzheimer, he didn't know who I was.
"Sunsets are loved because they vanish." - Ray Bradbury
Days like this, I could forget
If they were all to vanish,
Come to an end in a sunset
Black clouds I'd ever banish
If they were all to vanish
As skies of orange and blue,
Black clouds I'd ever banish
If that were so easy to do
As skies of orange and blue
Take place here, now and then,
If that were so easy to do
I'd paint them with my pen
Take place here, now and then
Needed for only a little while,
I'd paint them with my pen
If only I had such style
Needed for only a little while
Come to an end in a sunset,
If only I had such style
Days like this, I could forget.
Citadel of hope
I rest in thee
From these lonesome troubles
A flame burns in my heart
A small flame it is
But it keeps me warm in this cold world
It keeps me company on dreary and weary days
It tells me all is gonna be alright
I trust in you flame in my heart
But I fear deep down, the day the flame burns out on its last jar of gasoline
What will be left of me when it runs out
Will I be able to pass through each dreary day
Cos my heart breaks so easy
Cos am so sensitive to pain
I pray you never run out my soothing flame
My muse has exited via the stage door
She says my life is such a bore
That the red spice wastes upon floor
That I can try but find chewed up chore
My memoirs are merit less with no flare
My heart is useless for no one cares
The stars are fruitless for at them I stare
And do less than imagine them there
Heard of a song I did not know
I failed to sway in the flow
Of sing a long as life’s teal toast
My mind less inclined to divinely grow
My muse refuses to rescue me
From confusing red reverie
Of days past of vast poetry
Get off your horses Azz and sing
Sing of love which once had I
Or sing of black bird in the sky
Sing of crystal blue tears I cry
Sing of escape from tragedy called life
My muse is loose and stepping on my toes
Playing my mind like a Devine piano
I try to coax her back in her rose cage
She won’t come easy and she won’t stay.
Life…? unbooked train travel ends in kick-out arrival.
In every station, some get in and some go out.
But everyone wishes their station would never arrive.
It is still mysterious what makes fancy in this rushed, packed, tiresome, and bone-breaking travel.
It must be those small windows.
Still, it is not that easy to enjoy the scenario for someone who is stuck in a breathless crowd.