From the Archive

Three-Line Poem Examples

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Every poem on this page has exactly three lines, and every one first appeared in an issue of Three Line Poetry. The journal has published poems this size since 2011. The archive now holds thousands of them across sixty issues, so when someone asks us for examples of three-line poems, we can answer from our own pages.

Sixteen poems follow, sorted loosely by what they are doing: image poems, love poems, poems about grief, and poems that go for the laugh. Between the groups you will find a short note on why the form suits each subject. Every poem links to the issue it came from, where you can read forty more by other poets.

The sixteen were chosen from more than two thousand published poems, and the picking was not scientific. We wanted range: poems from the first issue and from recent ones, poets who appear in the archive once and poets who keep returning, plain diction next to strange diction. What they share is compression that does not feel starved. Read them slowly. A three-line poem taken at prose speed is over in four seconds and leaves nothing behind; the same poem read line by line, with a real pause at each break, opens up.

What makes a poem with 3 lines work is almost always the same thing: a turn. The first line sets something down, the second complicates it, and the third lands somewhere the reader did not expect to go. When a short poem fails, it is usually because the three lines are one sentence chopped into pieces, with no turn at all. Watch for the pivot in each example below. It is nearly always in the last line, and it is nearly always earned by what the first two lines held back.

One thing you will not find here is a strict haiku, though several poems come close. This journal takes any poem in three lines, whatever its syllable count. If you want the taxonomy, we keep a separate guide to the forms of three-line poetry: haiku, senryu, tercet, and lune.

16 poems from the archive

Poems built on one image

The oldest job of a short poem is to hold a single image still long enough for a reader to see it. Nothing in this group explains itself. David Shultz gets a winter sky, a cave mouth, and icicles into a dozen words, and the poem ends before the mind can wander. Bill Melton’s Big Dipper poem works because the metaphor is exact: the constellation really is shaped like a ladle, and once he tips it, the stars pour. Catherine LoFrumento uses even less. A plum, a canoe, the moon. She never says the moon looks like a half-eaten plum; the line break says it for her. And Martha Christina wraps a tree in ice overnight, in eight words.

Night sky from frozen
Cave mouth – icicles hold still
Their splintered half-moons
David ShultzIssue 44

tilted in the sky
the Big Dipper pouring stars
an immense ladle
Bill MeltonIssue 52

half-eaten plum
a canoe drifts over
the moon
Catherine LoFrumentoIssue 45

The young sycamore
glitters, gift-wrapped
by overnight ice.
Martha ChristinaIssue 25

Love poems

Love poems usually fail by saying too much, which gives a poem with 3 lines a head start. Patrick Jamieson fits a whole relationship into fourteen words, and the sunglasses carry what an essay could not. Theresa Cancro moves from falling snow to a held hand in a single sentence. James Plume keeps the wobbling chair his partner once threw, and forgives it in the last line. Thomas Hayes charts a marriage as sound: dialogue, then monologue, then crickets.

I loved her, I did,
but she would wear sunglasses
in the winter rain.
Patrick JamiesonIssue 18

one snowflake falls
silently on another --
I take your hand in mine.
Theresa CancroIssue 24

We still use the wobbling chair
That broke after she threw it.
I don’t mind the instability.
James PlumeIssue 37

The sweet dialogue
That became the monologue
Is now just crickets.
Thomas HayesIssue 10

Grief

Grief may be the subject the form serves best, because grief resists explanation anyway. Todd Grant’s epitaph in the sand makes the classic move: one image, then the sentence that turns it. Debbi Antebi watches a watch; the hands still crawl, the wrist does not. Kevin Andersen pours beer into the sea for his grandfather, and the plain speech of it is the poem. Michael Flanagan sets a dropping coffin against birdsong and lets the two facts argue.

an epitaph in the sand
the words I should have said
while she was alive
Todd GrantIssue 12

the hands of the watch
still crawling
on his lifeless wrist
Debbi AntebiIssue 13

I pour some of my beer into the sea
over which we spread your ashes.
Here’s to you, grandpa.
Kevin AndersenIssue 37

an October day
your coffin drops from sight
clouds float...birds sing
Michael FlanaganIssue 55

Comic poems, more or less

The three-line poem shares a border with the joke. Both need a setup and a turn, and both die if the timing is off. Connor Bjotvedt’s morning dread lands on toothpaste. Franklin Murdock’s poem, from our very first issue, is eight words and one strange handshake. Claire Scott rewrites Eliot’s famous ending for the delivery-truck era. Rachelle Mathis puts a Sex Pistols t-shirt in a yard of blooming dogwoods, which is funnier and sadder than it has any right to be. If comic poems look easier, count how many words each of these wastes.

A feeling worse than
Déjà vu, every morning,
toothpaste on my tie.
Connor BjotvedtIssue 44

I like
to shake hands
with strange doors.
Franklin MurdockIssue 1

not with a bang or a whimper
but with Amazon trucks
ruling deserted streets
Claire ScottIssue 53

The dogwoods are now blooming
I took out the trash
in a Sex Pistols t-shirt.
Rachelle MathisIssue 17

Write one

If these look easy, try one. Three lines, no other rules. The usual failure is the chopped sentence; the fix is to give each line its own weight, so the poem turns on its way down. Our writing advice page covers line length and meter, and our guide to three-line forms explains haiku, senryu, tercets, and lunes if you want a stricter frame to push against.

There is more to read, too. The whole archive is free online, and we gather poems by subject on our poems by theme pages: love, nature, night, loss, and more.

Three Line Poetry reads submissions year round, and publication is free. Fewer than six in a hundred submissions are accepted, which is exactly why acceptance means something. Send us your best three lines.

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