Writing a poem is not about bringing some words together to create some charming sentences. It's so much deeper than that. Writing poetry is a bridge that allows people to express their feelings and make others live every single word they read. Poetry is to educate people, to lead them away from hate to love, from violence to mercy and pity. Writing poetry is to help this community better understand life and live it more passionately. PoemHunter.com contains an enormous number of famous poems from all over the world, by both classical and modern poets. You can read as many as you want, and also submit your own poems to share your writings with all our poets, members, and visitors.
She was a pretty, nicely mannered mare,
The children's pet, the master's pride and care,
Until a man in khaki came one day,
Looked at her teeth, and hurried her away.
With other horses packed into a train
She hungered for her master's voice in vain;
And later, led 'twixt planks that scare and slip,
They slung her, terrified, on board a ship.
Next came, where thumps and throbbing filled the air,
Her first experience of mal de mare;
And when that oscillating trip was done
They hitched her up in traces to a gun.
She worked and pulled and sweated with the best;
A stranger now her glossy coat caressed
Till flashing thunderstorms came bursting round
And spitting leaden hail bestrewed the ground.
With quivering limbs, and silky ears laid back,
She feels a shock succeed a sharper crack,
And, whinnying her pitiful surprise,
Staggers and falls, and tries in vain to rise.
Alone, forsaken, on a foreign field
What moral does this little record yield ?
Who tends the wounded horses in the war ?
Well that is what the Blue Cross League is for.
After that hot gospeller has levelled all but the churched sky,
I wrote the tale by tallow of a city's death by fire;
Under a candle's eye, that smoked in tears, I
Wanted to tell, in more than wax, of faiths that were snapped like wire.
All day I walked abroad among the rubbled tales,
Shocked at each wall that stood on the street like a liar;
Loud was the bird-rocked sky, and all the clouds were bales
Torn open by looting, and white, in spite of the fire.
By the smoking sea, where Christ walked, I asked, why
Short Tutorial on Writing a Robert Frost Mastepiece
For the first three stanzas use a rhyming scheme of aaba, then the last stanza bbbb: now choose a mundane topic but being an egomaniac, pump it up to seem important. Like this:
I wandered by a shop's bright window
I saw a person I think I know
It was me, in the reflection clear
What a clever person it did show.
The shopkeeper did see me leer,
As I adored my image there
Reflecting like a modern bard
There was a writer named Drake.
Could barely afford a pancake.
He got paid by the hour.
His finances dour.
delicious and nutritious my man came home
vicious and suspicious caught in the zone
Rich in words today
Spending them in play
Be prudent, no way!
Souls lost in the name of war! !
All about the wicked people living with us;
Lost souls! ! ! Deaths!
Evidence of wickedness! ! ! ! !
In the name of true love! !
Nice and easy with righteous morals,
All about life on earth;
Marked for life
The uneducated run into the wind
Unknowingly, bearing its wrath.
Once a man died
Stepping off of the curb
Picking up a dime
Soothing toward the heavens
In lilt to name in waiting
Lauren Donzis and Ricky Antunes
I was walking
In the pleasant evening
With great energy and enthusiasm,
After walking some distance,
Let's not sprint
like the hands of a clock
that incessantly tick
with no break