Poems about Writing Poetry
#WritingPoetry
Poems about writing poetry examine style, form, composition and language. Also, poetry about the writing process and what it means to write a poem.
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Bearing the weight of words; worlds
Well Mr.
Chinaski,
the wine's got me by the will,
(I'm sure you'd say my womans got me by the
balls)–
and though I respect your work I
can't quite say I'd agree–
wheat and
chaff.
Long after first light I
rise, my
head still
sagging to one
side—
waterlogged with the
Midnight Dew.
Hangover hounding,
baying at the
back door of my cranium.
McCarthy mixes with the
brain fog
and
both plume upward to some unseen
place in
kind,
I...
Chinaski,
the wine's got me by the will,
(I'm sure you'd say my womans got me by the
balls)–
and though I respect your work I
can't quite say I'd agree–
wheat and
chaff.
Long after first light I
rise, my
head still
sagging to one
side—
waterlogged with the
Midnight Dew.
Hangover hounding,
baying at the
back door of my cranium.
McCarthy mixes with the
brain fog
and
both plume upward to some unseen
place in
kind,
I...
#CharlesBukowski
#nonfiction
#WritingPoetry
17 reads
0 Comments
Emotions laying dormant
The poem unwritten, sits just dormant
waiting for release
sparkles that never quite ignite
not showered with a sparkle steeped
incendiary flare that fizzled out
love; its promises, fluttered hope
love letters tied with granny knots
when you were lost, and so besot
written then interred, embossed
and faded like a flower preserved
its precious essence never lost
just waiting like some old remains
for you to dig and use again
archaeology of time precedes
whispers for the poet buried, not to deep!
for love is always,...
waiting for release
sparkles that never quite ignite
not showered with a sparkle steeped
incendiary flare that fizzled out
love; its promises, fluttered hope
love letters tied with granny knots
when you were lost, and so besot
written then interred, embossed
and faded like a flower preserved
its precious essence never lost
just waiting like some old remains
for you to dig and use again
archaeology of time precedes
whispers for the poet buried, not to deep!
for love is always,...
#WritingPoetry
7 reads
0 Comments
Front page found poetry
I've discovered
The big bad wolf
loves social commentary
and double penetration.
You see,
monsters ain't all
that slick.
Ask mother.
Although they're
howling into awareness
like me, at that age.
Civilized? Yeah
Becoming? Possibly.
I'm actually unravelling
into evolution myself
crying tears of joy.
My inner voice
is a tornadic affair.
It's malcontent,
And yet,
I am that...
The big bad wolf
loves social commentary
and double penetration.
You see,
monsters ain't all
that slick.
Ask mother.
Although they're
howling into awareness
like me, at that age.
Civilized? Yeah
Becoming? Possibly.
I'm actually unravelling
into evolution myself
crying tears of joy.
My inner voice
is a tornadic affair.
It's malcontent,
And yet,
I am that...
#WritingPoetry
49 reads
11 Comments
Self-published Poetry Collection
I've finished with the manuscript for my self-published poetry collection. I did it on Reedsy, because I don't have access to Microsoft Word and I'm broke, lol. It's not exactly ideal for poetry, but it's the best I can do. I'll have to wait until next month to be able to order a proof and copy, and I can't wait. I hope it turns out okay. 🙂🩷 (My second published poem.)
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
45 reads
3 Comments
The poor trait of Dorian Gray
Took a photo of himself
in a wave of selfie registration.
To remember himself young,
untouched,
no wrinkles.
He never published it on the networks:
There were too many marks,
scratches, grooves and other texts
in his selfish portrait...
Years passed.
He never remembered her again.
It was forgotten in the files
of the telephone device.
His behaviors
marked the faces
of many men, women,
lovers and haters.
He died, obviously,
in a moment of time
and everyone agreed
that...
in a wave of selfie registration.
To remember himself young,
untouched,
no wrinkles.
He never published it on the networks:
There were too many marks,
scratches, grooves and other texts
in his selfish portrait...
Years passed.
He never remembered her again.
It was forgotten in the files
of the telephone device.
His behaviors
marked the faces
of many men, women,
lovers and haters.
He died, obviously,
in a moment of time
and everyone agreed
that...
#anxiety
#apathy
#boredom
#depression
#WritingPoetry
59 reads
10 Comments
THE POEM UNWRITTEN
the poem
unwritten
again
and again,
the empty page,
a smattering
of disconnected
thoughts,
poetic fakery,
stupid word play
unnamed
distractions
porn
that girl's big ass
big tits
thick thighs
the way she shakes it
takes it
and too much wine
again
and the way she left
and took the kids,
the car
and the goddamn bills piling
overdue
relentless
mundane
work-a-day
bullshit
grinding
the heart to
wordless
mush,
squeezing the
joy...
unwritten
again
and again,
the empty page,
a smattering
of disconnected
thoughts,
poetic fakery,
stupid word play
unnamed
distractions
porn
that girl's big ass
big tits
thick thighs
the way she shakes it
takes it
and too much wine
again
and the way she left
and took the kids,
the car
and the goddamn bills piling
overdue
relentless
mundane
work-a-day
bullshit
grinding
the heart to
wordless
mush,
squeezing the
joy...
#WritersBlock
#WritingPoetry
47 reads
4 Comments
Puns, Guns, & Raising Suns
An Army of one without packing a gun
Instead of eclipsing, I'd rather raise Suns
A creative pun spun in just the write way
Is like a million in one guns aiming to spray
Both used to convey and relay messages
Pay attention to the captions of the images
Taking pilgrimages within via introspection
Escaping life's battefields for recuperation
A resurrection of motivation to continue to march
After living a life of service like the Golden arches
Cause stopwatches have no impact on the progression of time
I pause for the...
Instead of eclipsing, I'd rather raise Suns
A creative pun spun in just the write way
Is like a million in one guns aiming to spray
Both used to convey and relay messages
Pay attention to the captions of the images
Taking pilgrimages within via introspection
Escaping life's battefields for recuperation
A resurrection of motivation to continue to march
After living a life of service like the Golden arches
Cause stopwatches have no impact on the progression of time
I pause for the...
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
34 reads
2 Comments
Back on charge
#lust
#sex
#WritingPoetry
105 reads
2 Comments
Outside The Box - with Grace
Bridging the waters
in the silence of translation
of envious nature's heart
archived in seance beyond
bestowed upon my soul
the distillation of poetic oxygen
reaching out for redeeming hands
folded hands poetics' satiation
looking inwards the soul contemplating
gathering of words to stitch together
divinely inspired to go beyond thoughts
to recite beauty in sculptured glory
thinking outside the box
in the silence of translation
of envious nature's heart
archived in seance beyond
bestowed upon my soul
the distillation of poetic oxygen
reaching out for redeeming hands
folded hands poetics' satiation
looking inwards the soul contemplating
gathering of words to stitch together
divinely inspired to go beyond thoughts
to recite beauty in sculptured glory
thinking outside the box
#philosophical
#WritingPoetry
69 reads
0 Comments
The fear of writing poetry
Reaching into a bag of painful memories,
pulling one out for all the world to see
*something like Santa Claus doling out coal*
and through the magic of zeros and ones
little bits of my being now appear on the screen
Indians were afraid of having their picture taken,
that the camera would steal their souls,
should I be afraid the computer won't return
the parts of my spirit I leave for you to see?
Which makes me pause as I reach the pearly gates
and my sins are weighed and measured,
would I be turned away if I were half a soul...
pulling one out for all the world to see
*something like Santa Claus doling out coal*
and through the magic of zeros and ones
little bits of my being now appear on the screen
Indians were afraid of having their picture taken,
that the camera would steal their souls,
should I be afraid the computer won't return
the parts of my spirit I leave for you to see?
Which makes me pause as I reach the pearly gates
and my sins are weighed and measured,
would I be turned away if I were half a soul...
#philosophical
#redemption
#WritingPoetry
55 reads
0 Comments
The Poem Unwritten
The Poem Unwritten
Is the one that starts as an idea in the mind
Taking shape so perfectly
Before the pen begins to scribe the first line
It’s like a dream weaved
Conceived with flawless rhythm, flow and pace
Sincere and yet so eloquent
Able to transcend the limits of time and space
Every poet knows it
We have felt it at the very core of our beings
It’s something to be captured
Before the words and feelings go out fleeing
We all fall in love with it
The very nature of writing has us smitten
But if the...
Is the one that starts as an idea in the mind
Taking shape so perfectly
Before the pen begins to scribe the first line
It’s like a dream weaved
Conceived with flawless rhythm, flow and pace
Sincere and yet so eloquent
Able to transcend the limits of time and space
Every poet knows it
We have felt it at the very core of our beings
It’s something to be captured
Before the words and feelings go out fleeing
We all fall in love with it
The very nature of writing has us smitten
But if the...
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
51 reads
1 Comment
poet's miracle
a sonnet
"Medicines and surgery may cure, but only reading
and writing poetry can heal."—J. Arroyo
if every word were framed by flagrant fire,
perhaps i thus could every heart inspire.
what were the poet's meaning, after all,
if all his rhyme were with scant reason clad?
where were the fragrance, when soft voices call
the bowed down to the balm in gilead?
a song of joy, an aria for peace,
a lyric line to sooth the savage breast;
a lullaby for baby's sweet release,
a chant to calm political unrest;
a...
"Medicines and surgery may cure, but only reading
and writing poetry can heal."—J. Arroyo
if every word were framed by flagrant fire,
perhaps i thus could every heart inspire.
what were the poet's meaning, after all,
if all his rhyme were with scant reason clad?
where were the fragrance, when soft voices call
the bowed down to the balm in gilead?
a song of joy, an aria for peace,
a lyric line to sooth the savage breast;
a lullaby for baby's sweet release,
a chant to calm political unrest;
a...
#inspirational
#LifeAsAWriter
#MyInspiration #WritingPoetry
#MyInspiration #WritingPoetry
29 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems about Writing Poetry