Best Creative Writing Poems
Reasons for seasons
Mother nature speaks to us
Mindset renewal
The inspiration becomes a song
depending on an oceans verse
a seagull's cry calls upon the ancient mariner
Enchanting riches turns to dust moulded
Singing sunrise over horizon's mist
on the dark side of a moonbeam lost
Howling into an empty void
blood drips upon material planted
rays of light paints with hope dwells peace
From it's seed grows the apple bitten
once sewn deeply shades the blossoms pink
flowing rivers turning tides over
The seas part with death tolling time's reflection
watered by dewdrops sparkling green pastures growing
stronger for living pierced within daggers hurled by hate
Salted the remains of injured spiced injustices bring
perfumed inside regrets a living truth expelled nightmares
we all become haunted by ghosts of a past life
hunted by the wolves whom pack abuse unrelenting
We become the sheep
through eyes of forgiveness
held forever fragile within cotton wool
dancing away with the clouds
makes way for the sky to open your eyes
to colour through our optic nerves
one vision in words to complete
rivers flow onward
swift journeys lead to somewhere
years pass in silence
I often think of the sea,
not so much of vastness
but of depth, and what I
can't see, all the life just
beneath the surface – sort
of like, a newborn, 70 years
from now; sunlight blotting
out the sky, until rescued by
night...each of us a legacy
of many –
we find one another again, in
the shallow eddies – where waters
meet in manageable pools,
our circles pushing back against
a far greater current –
Where tide
tips the shore, we are nestles
of shelly kisses...sharing what
we can recall of both slippery
and pointed journeys –
in a real sense
all our forms and words
are a bit cliché
creative writing
the antithetical
of language
We faced each other in a circle as
we sat on chairs inside her classroom; then
she had us close our eyes. Perhaps we used
some blindfolds. I’ve forgotten details, for
it happened in my high school years ago.
Our sense of sight was gone. She walked around
the circle, giving each of us a taste
of something we would savor in our mouths.
Then each of us would guess what it had been.
We must have sampled spicy, sour and sweet!
I can’t recall the foods we tasted or
how many times we guessed them right or wrong.
She also had us use just sense of smell,
and later, she played sounds for us, and we
made guesses as to what it was we’d heard.
This happened in the first week of the class.
It stands out sharpest in my memory,
but I recall we’d share our written work
inside a circle. This I loved so well
because we heard each other clearly then.
I can’t recall the name of her who taught
Creative Writing. She was young and sweet
and knew the trick of using every sense
to help us be in tune with what we felt.
And that’s why we used blindfolds that first day!
Those words like “imagery” I’d only read
about in English class would come alive
because this woman knew the secret of
good teaching was to let her students learn
from real experience, not just from books.
I don’t recall the many things we did,
but all the fruit I bore from what she taught
is with me still; the stories that I wrote
and little poems saved since eleventh grade.
I kept no work from any other class!
I never guessed those many years ago
would find me on a thing called Internet
or that I’d end up writing mostly poems
when little stories used to be my “thing!”
Real writing days came once my kids were raised.
But always I’ll recall that precious class,
The funnest and the most inspiring one.
Perhaps a bit of what I am today -
A teacher and a writer - I owe to
The miss who taught Creative Writing Class.
Brenda Chiri-Carroll's "Who Has Inspired You the Most In Your Life" Contest
(I have learned this teacher's name since I wrote his back in 2011. She is Ms. Deborah Rozeboom)
faintest voices heard
divine talk between angels
laughter in shadows
When trying to grasp thoughts through our mind’s haze,
It’s like trying to escape a thought maze.
As the bits and pieces accumulate,
How will they connect, how will they relate?
We try to relate them to things we know.
Each thought should be placed right where it should go.
So many topics to assimilate,
We constantly add and have to update.
Without clear focus they may lose their flow,
By first burning to bright then losing their glow.
Without definition, they will not last,
Some good ideas will drift to the past.
Give each thought it’s time, make sure it’s defined,
It will be its best when finely refined.
nature amuses
seasonal songs not in tune
fearing of boredom
collecting petals
sweetly scented soft to touch
love me love me not
heartfelt memories
rhythmic vibes cleansing the past
laughing all the way
Knick Knack Paddy Whack
Can’t take back a wisecrack
If you wanna be a crackerjack
Earn a greenback from blackjack
Gotta buyback your backpack
Need to blister pack your flapjacks
Evident ebbing of drawbacks
Raises the bar for the sad sacks
The good life, so Kodak
So long as you don’t sidetrack
Selfie people hide in haystacks
Hoarding their golden tie tacks
Shall we ponder how to give back
Go beyond the dusty knickknack
Respect deserves a worthy payback
Not a flimsy whimsy kickback
Society requests a comeback
Wispy clouds playful
Creating quilted sky art
A butterfly day
blue moon weeps softly
tear drops emerge with passion
challenging omens
it’s your turn to fly
blackbird sings in dark black night
freedom imagined
Flourish of nectar
Take nature for example
Birthing of futures