Best Writers Block Poems
Blank pages stare back at me
waiting for my mind to pour
its' heart out.
I grab my pen, throw on my
headphones wait, wait for my
mind to give my heart words
that need to be written.
I make my mark, withdraw my hand, I stare.
This is all you see _____
Months have passed since words have
been written, my mind is hesitant
to reveal what my heart tries to
conceal.
Music plays in my ears in hopes
of encouraging my mind to find
its hidden words.
I stop, quote Jonson in my head
an English dramatist & poet...
"Suns, that set, may rise again
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night. (Volpone)
Yet my mind still remains empty.
Perspiration runs down my face,
my temperature rises, frustration
runs through my veins.
I try yet again
I quote Apollinaire in my head
a French poet...
"Les souvenirs sont cors de chasse
Dont meunt le bruit parmi le vent"
My anger grows
My mind weary
My eyes tire.
As night falls, & its all over
my pages still remain empty
..the block where all the writers live
if you cant do anything good
is that righters block
a place for satanic sacrifice
a riters block
The triangular piece of wood that released
the brothers plane
the Wrighters block
only left turns
the rights are blocked
I live on writer’s block
Licorice streets poetic trees
Huge house on the hilltop
Walls made of words
Some hard as bricks
Others soft as a cherry kiss
Floors formed from passion
That like me were walked on
Leaving only shadows no steps
For me to learn how to move on
I live on writer’s block
Where women are too strong
To show weaknesses withering
Like night flowers in sun too long
Shivery is dead what else can live
In a cold lonely bed of fibs
Where lies are fried for breakfast
Scrambled like eggs and bacon
If you can stand to eat despite grief
For disappointment is appetite taken
I live on writer’s block where
Pessimistic parakeets parade
Flying with colorful wings
Like living rainbows above a grave
Breathing life in dead poetry
That slides down pastel page
Where muse refuses to speak
Oh what a waste
The Pensive Poet Contest sponsor Constance LaFrance written 8/4/26
Turquoise thoughts form
like peach perspiration
Sliding down my feverish face
Baked in a steamy shower of brain fog
Ideas fall in incomplete patterns
Like a red runaway train going no where
I get a little inspiration from fellow poet
Whose words flow fuchsia free with melodic ease
I bake and contemplate black cauldron
As my food of thought bank
Whimsical words are my magic wand
Which I use as a spoon to stir
My muse consuming cranberry daiquiri
Is wasted and no longer helping me
The night is cloaked with onyx vail
Saved by polka dots of silver stars
I reach for them in denim desperation
For what is a poet without a poem
If my wish is granted I too will write
Like the greatest poet upon the clouds
My teal torture will melt into a sea of creativity
Amethyst ideas like a new white wind
Washing away the lost thoughts
Starting a new purple poetic journey
There is a new focus on my path
I’m not the best or the worst but
I can love my heart song and tap into
The melody unique to my sandy soul
I can gather my emotions like a potion
Stirring you and me like a maroon melody
Not all who read will be moved
But for the fantastic few who
Visit me on writer’s block we shall persevere
And in due time writing sublimely
Guiding the runaway train to new destinations
I can't think of what words to write
I've tried all day and all night
Hey, I have writer's block
No, they say, what a crock
I wrote this, so looks like they're right!
For Debbie Guzzi's Meter
Carol Brown
Limerick
8th Place Winner
Entry into P.D.'s Limerick contest for June 2012
10th Place Winner
Writing random words refined.
Rescued from the hidden mind.
Inspirational thoughts are lurking
Trying to show their true colours.
Emotional feelings about ones life
Rescued from the hidden mind.
Secrets hoping to be refined.
Brain moves into overdrive
Looking somehow to revive.
Overstretch thoughts erratic.
Close to being a self-hater
Knock on door, will finish later.
There is a name for this form but I forget it. Will find out.
Revelation
is such a
Temptation
that leads us to
Damnation
which always seeks
Salvation
relieving us from the
Frustration
of the lack of
Creation....
Hindsight 20/20
Writer's block
My glass is empty!
Creative process
Transparently fragile
Must find my muse!
Must be mentally agile!
Struggling through
But no inspiration
Need some relief
From brain constipation
Finally!
Oh, what a thrill!
My muse returns
My glass starts to fill!
From immovable object
To unstoppable force
Manipulate physics?
My muse can of course!
My glass is now full
I've just posted my poem
Alas, glass is empty
My muse loves to roam!
The megapixels join together,
humming, buzzing as they collide,
Forming a haze in negative space.
bloop, bloop, bloop,
I come to life - brought feet first into this world.
Shins cast in light metal,
Socked feet on soft shoes.
A short dress like armor,
and flawless skin.
The tip of your tongue is hard to find
You search and seek and stumble to rhyme
The page is blank and stays that way
Your poets wings begin to fade
There's not a single word in stock
You're sick indeed with writers block
You try and try but can't be freed
There's nothing there for us to read
So put a bandage on your pen
Tomorrow try your verse again
By: Kyle Ezra Kriticos
My thoughts jumping from lily pad to lily pad.
Fishing for thoughts with swans. Gentle breeze from
an invisible source touching my shoulders,as
time grows older. Aloof trees starring from
across the river. Their hands wave and shiver.
Sipping on 90 proof rum it destroys my liver
but thoughts it delivers. Thinking of tomorrow,
thinking of today. The hands of my mind forming
broken words with clay, as I watch the birds play.
Stay away fly stay away your interrupting my poem
for today.
Writers block!!!
All writers at one time or another
say I can't write, I have writers block,
no you don't. What you have
is restless mind.
When you don't have any ideals
coming your way, go outside sit
for a while, listen to the birds,
enjoy the floating white clouds,
look at the trees, the flowers,
the grass, smell the air,
a moment in time will come to you,
remembering something that happened
to you long ago that you had not thought about
in a long time. You will then go inside and write
something. So don't use the excuse of why
you can't write, by saying I have writers block,
there is always something to write about.
written 8-12-11
When you don't know what to think
Don't think nothing
Let your mind wander
Until it becomes something
Unwind your focus
Loosen it's clasp
Hover from your focus
Float out it's grasp
Escape boundaries and limits
Discard boundaries and limits
Do away with them all
Leave no boundaries and limits
Look at the reality around you
Then imagine it as unrealistic as could be
Let this technique guide you forward
And watch the writers block retreat
The floodgates will open
The paragraphs will flow with ease
By using this kung fu
In your time of need
Deep within throes of writer's block cerebral cortex feels frozen to the core
Haint no rhyme nor reason
why writing a poem such an arduous chore
twenty two days afore
winter solstice twenty twenty more
or less three weeks from tomorrow
November thirtieth, I implore
the god/goddess of poetry,
perhaps found within Bangalore
highlighted by the 'Green Door'
guarded by the key don Eeyore
also known as Al Gore
him of Earth in the Balance fame
who by George got ambushed unsure
if he chad chance to claim victory tour
when former candidate did score
less electoral college votes
nevertheless in my mind before
thoroughgoing count did ignore
discarded ballots scattered
all across the floor
which outcome incurred Iraq war
insinuating weapons of mass destruction
the gung ho forty third president forswore
existed but quite a few
respectable Republicans did abhor
pinning such ambiguous lore
upon head of recalcitrant Saddam Hussein
bombed back to stone age
think lavishing primitive home decor
no imprecation heaped and hurled
upon United States military, nor
thug, who nobody did adore
asking politely "por favor
can I pretty please take detour
to Galapagos Islands of Ecuador
made famous courtesy Charles Darwin
still popular best selling author
at garden variety generic bookstore
which borders on ridiculous for sure
yet inane rhyme tore
thru my noggin after writer's block
yours truly did deplore
he would spend countless hours in vain
every burst of creativity I did explore
found me smack dab against
figurative cul de sac and bonjour
to you too three score
orbitz after me late papa did bore
mama, she passed away
fifteen years before.
The dreaded writers block
is every poets curse
when you're waiting to write
but can't think of a verse
Pen at the ready
but a brain working slow
desperate for ideas
that you hope to make grow
You try a distraction
to encourage a find
a little more coffee
to waken the mind!
When nothing is working
you give up for the day
and wish inspiration
had a bit more to say!
You hope in the morning
with your first cup of tea
that something will trigger
a thought to run free
Then you can start writing
and forget this old curse
just get on with composing
some brilliant verse!