Poem Poems | Best Poems about Writing Poems


    Introduction To Poetry Poem by Billy Collins

    I ask them to take a poem
    and hold it up to the light
    like a color slide

    or press an ear against its hive.

    I say drop a mouse into a poem
    and watch him probe his way out,

    or walk inside the poem’s room
    and feel the walls for a light switch.

    I want them to waterski
    across the surface of a poem
    waving at the author’s name on the shore.

    But all they want to do
    is tie the poem to a chair with rope
    and torture a confession out of it.

    They begin beating it with a hose
    to find out what it really means.



    Saddest Poem Poem by Pablo Neruda

    I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

    Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars,
    and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.”

    The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

    I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
    I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

    On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
    I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

    She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
    How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

    I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
    To think I don’t have her. To feel that I’ve lost her.

    To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
    And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

    What does it matter that my love couldn’t keep her.
    The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

    That’s all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
    My soul is lost without her.

    As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
    My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

    The same night that whitens the same trees.
    We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

    I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
    My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

    Someone else’s. She will be someone else’s. As she once
    belonged to my kisses.
    Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

    I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
    Love is so short and oblivion so long.

    Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
    my soul is lost without her.

    Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
    and this may be the last poem I write for her.



    Ars Poetica Poem by Archibald MacLeish

    A poem should be palpable and mute
    As a globed fruit

    As old medallions to the thumb

    Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
    Of casement ledges where the moss has grown –

    A poem should be wordless
    As the flight of birds

    A poem should be motionless in time
    As the moon climbs

    Leaving, as the moon releases
    Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,

    Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
    Memory by memory the mind –

    A poem should be motionless in time
    As the moon climbs

    A poem should be equal to:
    Not true

    For all the history of grief
    An empty doorway and a maple leaf

    For love
    The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea –

    A poem should not mean
    But be



    *** A Poem For You *** Poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof

    The distance, laden with terminal disease
    Counting the days to eternal abyss

    Fragile, a vein ruptures
    Agile, a mood bursts

    Your scent is across the ocean
    I smell the stinky you, in notion

    Desire so beautiful, like a poppy
    Blossoms, sugar coated with honey

    I got no means to come to you
    If I can walk the ocean blue

    I don’t have to write this poem
    Just bury ourselves in a dorm

    For a start, before luxury unleashes
    We bravely, overcome love patches


    Poem For A Poem Poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir

    She asks me
    What is a poem?

    Her shapely nose,
    Her lips like two slices of water melon,
    Her eyes reflecting clear blue sky,
    Her thick hair like dark grey clouds,
    Her horizon-like forehead
    Are poems.

    Frolicking of children,
    Gossiping old women,
    Cheering buddies gathered to spend an evening together,
    Waiting travellers with carry-on bags in hand,
    Strolling couples in a park, picnickers,
    Are all features of a poem.
    Lively sunlight warming the sanitorium stairs,
    A nude poster,
    A gypsy girl,
    Are poems.

    Ramble through a wonderland,
    Laughter at an amusement park,
    Still blue lake,
    Scream of herons slipping on the rocks,
    Thunder of a water fall,
    Symphony of four seasons,
    Song of pure rains,
    Silent hunch of rainbow, arching over all,
    Are poems.

    Children of Bosnia
    All are words of a poem.
    Prior to gang rape
    Women were preambles to poems,
    Now they are complete poems.
    Suppressed scream of a prisoner
    In torture chamber
    Is also a poem.
    The blood ablaze
    In the snow clad valley of Kashmir
    Is fast becoming a poem.
    Death of the starving in Somalia is a poem.
    Coffin of the peace keeping soldier
    Is a real-life poem.

    She asks me, what is a poem?
    Shall I tell her
    That her poem inscribing fingers are too a poem
    And her handwriting,
    Her handsome portrait,
    Her brown sandal
    Even destiny under her feet
    Are a poem.

    She knows!
    She is a poem to me clad in mauve.
    Still she asks me
    What is a poem?



    When You Wake Tomorrow Poem by Brian Patten

    I will give you a poem when you wake tomorrow.
    It will be a peaceful poem.
    It won’t make you sad.
    It won’t make you miserable.
    It will simply be a poem to give you
    When you wake tomorrow.

    It was not written by myself alone.
    I cannot lay claim to it.
    I found it in your body.
    In your smile I found it.
    Will you recognise it?

    You will find it under your pillow.
    When you open the cupboard it will be there.
    You will blink in astonishment,
    Shout out, ‘How it trembles!
    Its nakedness is startling! How fresh it tastes!’

    We will have it for breakfast;
    On a table lit by loving,
    At a place reserved for wonder.
    We will give the world a kissing open
    When we wake tomorrow.

    We will offer it to the sad landlord out on the balcony.
    To the dreamers at the window.
    To the hand waving for no particular reason
    We will offer it.
    An amazing and most remarkable thing,
    We will offer it to the whole human race
    Which walks in us
    When we wake tomorrow.



    To Make A Dadist Poem Poem by Tristan Tzara

    Take a newspaper.
    Take some scissors.
    Choose from this paper an article the length you want to make your poem.
    Cut out the article.
    Next carefully cut out each of the words that make up this article and put them all in a bag.
    Shake gently.
    Next take out each cutting one after the other.
    Copy conscientiously in the order in which they left the bag.
    The poem will resemble you.
    And there you are–an infinitely original author of charming sensibility, even though unappreciated by the vulgar herd.



    The Abandoned Poem Poem by Daniel Brick

    I wrote a long poem
    for you this morning
    in the pure light
    of an untouched day.

    The poem was marvelous!
    It took two hours to write,
    two hours to revise,
    one hour to copy neatly.

    As I read the final draft,
    I felt I was in your presence:
    your flesh as pure as the light,
    your mind as untouched as the day.

    The poem was one moment
    a window through which I saw
    your beauty. The next moment,
    a mirror reflecting our joy.

    Then a darkness that was not
    nature’s fell across my desk.
    I dropped my pen, closed my
    notebook. My mind, like a whirlgig.

    This poem, these paper words
    contained no trace of you:
    the down of your face,
    the curve of your legs,

    your breathing lifting
    your breasts, your lips
    parted to speak, or parting
    to kiss – Yes,

    words are such perfect
    traitors: they make promises
    that warm you, like summer light,
    they create spirals of hope.

    For those hours of composing,
    the words performed miracles
    of desire, produced wonders
    of expectation, and then –

    I dumped the three sheets
    in the yard as I trudged
    to my daily tasks,
    silent, sullen, sorry.

    That evening, as twilight
    slowly finished what
    morning light had begun,
    I saw you, sitting alone,

    on your balcony, half-
    hidden by a vase of flowers.
    Your hands held my poem,
    your eyes gazed intently.

    I stood leaning against
    a maple tree, watching
    this impossible scene,
    wondering what words were left.

    No longer traitors, I
    sifted through my mind
    to find the words closest
    to touch and to silence.

    As I looked up in desire,
    you suddenly looked
    down in anticipation.
    Words dissolved into gestures.



    Silence Is The Entrance…. Poem by Sylvia Frances Chan

    Below the water surface
    I put down my foundations
    to build a house
    with a tiny room
    I can work, is never disturbed

    Below the water surface
    I see my inside
    peculiar, the doors are mirror
    I see myself knocking on the door

    Below the water surface
    I have just lost my way
    suddenly there is a door open
    the main gate of my soul

    Below the water surface
    I see my inside
    silence is the absolute must
    to the main gate to open,
    the mirrors to remove
    and so I see myself go inside

    Nice to be there
    nice to be in place to
    Heaven in order to remain
    in the interior, in this huge silence
    have you met me, you raise me
    with your love…

    Silence is the Entrance
    to the deepest me….



    Clouds Of Love Poem by PREMKUMAR C N

    Oh, golden twilight clouds,
    Go far with the message in my songs
    To where my beloved weeps for me
    Wipe her tears and tell her she is mine

    Let her know how sad I feel
    In this world so unreal
    In this suffocating silence
    Left by her long absence

    Carry the vapors of tears
    From my eyes as your clouds of blue
    Stay above her, high in the sky
    Inundate her, with droplets of my sorrow

    Let the thunders in my heart
    Shiver all the Ashta-Dikpalas
    With the reverberations of the mantra
    ‘Krishna loves Radha’

    Let the lightning in my heart
    Spread around the horizon
    All the sparks of love I kept undisturbed
    For the queen of my heart

    Take her up in the whirlwinds of my mind
    And carry her in the mighty winds
    Take her in your stormy hands
    Place her in my arms which crave for her touch