Rhyme Writing Poems | Examples
These Rhyme Writing poems are examples of Writing poems about Rhyme. These are the best examples of Writing Rhyme poems written by international poets.
Thoughts and feelings written in words….how powerful you are
I vent, you listen, you stay silent….without opinion
No expectations, no judgement, no disappointment
Readily available….you are one in a million!
Something Else
Perhaps this word goes here
Oops, not quite that
I think if I do this, it will rhyme
Drop the words
Clutter the mind
I'm tired of this; I'm going to bed
Emotions in dreams,
Inspirations in life
Words on a page in perfect tense
portray the dream of the poet to finally make sense
Gliding through a plain of thought
a writer's delight
Words once fleeting, no more.
A gem woven into the night.
What did you do?
Acting cool
Making VIP alpha list
Curling a fist?
Scan word floor
You may find four
Sounding good
As writings should
So, summon 'a,i,o,u'
Hush, 'I am not through'
Using this writing tool
Pointing out fools
Swimming in soup pool
Starting buzz
With its warming fuzz
Hail king
Only thing
That will sing
Following 'A', in command
Major B, who has a plan
To find a way out of this jam
My young child, I bid you good night
Now go to your room and light
Your fantasy story sight
Taking you far
Lapping any shooting star
Some are soft and sweet
Others….well….a bit sharper
Colder…edged in frost
There are those that
Turn up the heat
Slowly simmering
The subtlety of satire
Softening the edges
Of the boldly bawdy limerick
There are those that dance
To that different drummer
Scattered alliterative groups
Counting meter’s coup
On a hesitant rhyme.
Ranters, rambling on the
Borders of repetition
Stung by the brevity
Of a well-placed Senryu.
And still the Bard holds favor
As time, in changing costume
Alters allegorical allegiances
Cold youth rebelling
‘gainst the yellowed page
Numerical wizards
Seeking arithmetic advantage
Lover’s dreaming of lust’s long faded scent
Scribbling in strained distress
Whistling amid the gravestones
Of silenced poets
But who will free the poetry
Of its endless binding history
In doing so free you and me
To write as if we’re truly free
Of meters lockstep droning march
Of lifeless linen, too much starch
Tongues twisted by alliteration
Trains of words leaving the station
But who will free the poetry
Still locked within the who of me
Until I shout – “just let it be”
For poetry’s always been free
Its forms a method to a means
Ekphrasis words creating scenes
Of city streets in tattered jeans
Fairy tales of rescued Queens
So, fill the page with loving’s rage
A gentle breeze on windblown sage
Release the Kraken of the mind
Rescue the poet left behind
Write a poem you think it is good
post it as you know you should
No one seems to like it at all
for so few read it that poem falls
down down to the ho hums
you read it again not that dumb
But so it goes keep it real
A poem you are uncertain of
haven't post it because
It just to you kinda bad
no one will see it go ahead
post it and numbers you never seen
compliments given for this thing
For you the poem can't feel
but on Poetry Soup liked a great deal
Don't quit write more and more
a poem is something you are never sure
If you like it while no one else does
still it's yours, later on it could get some love
You write poetry because you do
no matter what you are sharing you.
Today, I tried to pen a new poem,
but I left my pen at home.
So, I sat down on a rock
and tried to pen a new poem in chalk.
But then the rains came and washed each new letter away.
Ah, what can I say?
I'll manage to pen a new poem yet ~
just not today.
Not another limerick verse
I swear it must be a curse
Don't call the poem cop
I give up I'll stop
Because they keep getting worse
I reached up into my mind
but she skidded away
she was flirty and flighty with me
what can I say?
Another elusive thought came by
She was lost before I could even try
Three great writing prompts escaped me in the last minute or two.
Do your ideas often do this to you?
Rendezvous and Little Pooh
eating Christmas pie
says Rendezvous to Little Pooh
want me to stick you in the eye?
What kind of poem is this creepy story?
Asks grandma’s four-year-old granddaughter, Tori.
the horrible kind my folks always read to me said her grandmother.
Probably why nightly nightmares snatched up me and my brother.
Sometimes my writing feels choppy like the bay,
On a stormy day.
However, I keep writing and rewriting until it’s flows smooth as fine wine,
Until it becomes divine.
Something that was hidden,
Buried deep within and felt forbidden.
Things that others don’t want to mention,
I put them on paper and they are given dimension.
I stand alone quite often,
My words they feel I need to soften.
They simply don’t understand my line of thought …
We live, we die
But in between,
It's how we try
That will be seen.
Don't waste your time
Just do your best,
Free verse or rhyme
Shall be your test.
So, give your muse
It's own free will,
And let it choose
To show your skill.
The words you write
Should never age,
But stay in- sight
Upon your page.
Less is best
Clearly expressed-
Purpose seemed breezy.
Wrote words to sow
Feelings I'd show.
Not “easy-peasy.”
I snuck into the party with an ID hastily made
and stumbled, out of step, into the poetry parade.
In this beautiful country club, I'm surrounded by my betters.
I wave my kindergarten rhymes to show the men of letters.
In the echo of the learned men who came this way before me
I hear the patterned minuets, that if followed, lead to glory.
I chafe in those traveled ruts and I long for something varied
and I hope to spark a unique verse, between school and the cemetery.
.
.
A song for this:
Time by Tom Waits