We live in a world where we choose
To just completely cut off one another
Where we can simply hit a button that allows us
To have no contact with another
And then we wait
We wait till we can't take it anymore
That we click that very same button
We used to push the other away to see
If they sent a message
Posted a status
Liked a picture
Tagged a post
To than sit and wait some more
The More time we waste
Just to waste more time on
someone we didn't want
To see
Didn't want to talk too
Didn't want anything from
So we block
We forget
We move on
block the light, shine elsewhere
cast a shadow, simply observing
look in the mirror.
There once was a festive green block,
Stacked high on the rim of a dock.
With peace in it's heart,
It chose to depart,
And plunge off the edge with a
shock!
At present, I'm plowing through the book of Mathew.
I hadn't picked up the word for many years.
Retirement and its cousin, boredom, will do that to a person,
It'll lead them to do things they haven't done for years.
At first, I began to read it silently, but now I'm reading it aloud.
Reading it aloud makes me feel more attached or connected to those
who care dearly about such things.
I can't read more than two pages at a time, because it's a deep and very dry read.
My mind wanders from scripture to the frozen block of meatloaf
I love meatloaf; I hope it thaws out in time for dinner
Tomorrow I'll read two more pages and see what happens.
I'll leave it open-ended. I'm not looking for a miracle.
I have no expectations; I'm not seeking out a patch for the soul.
Only a brief reprieve from household chores and this mental stream.
I think the book of Mark is next.
Just a stroke of violet paint
Stuck in a cage, far from quaint
When creative bickers with reason
It's no longer artistry season
The cure to this block of mind
Is something each person must find
If ample rest doesn't do the trick
Then find your niche, nice and quick!
There is no
real need
for people
to be mean
to innocent
people they
do not even
know and
a line must
be drawn
when many
people we
care for
are being
targeted
just for being
Black or Brown
while they are
out and about
and it always
makes me frown
at the
computer screen
and that vibe
gets me down
which is why
I choose to
detach mentally
from it all
and log out
so that I don't
feel spiritually
drained for
these petty
online conflicts
are not even ever
worth the clout.
Block off the sorrow
Wall off the pain
Quarantine tomorrow
When it returns again.
Don't play her music
Don't let the chords start
It penetrates the armor
that surrounds my heart.
She lies in a grave
Under a stone
She hoped and she gave
Now it's all gone.
You can riff a jazz song
You can play hard rock
Keep it harsh and strong
Don't turn on the clock.
In her last days her hairdresser came
Into our modest home
Temporarily cheered her up
with a scissors and a comb.
How have the mighty fallen
How has a vibrant life come low
I hear the past a' callin'
A place where I can't go.
So don't play that oldies song
Leave those memories alone.
Some doors stay closed for a reason—
Some hearts are better stone.
I try channeling my inner Inky
Where ideas stream like a spring
With elegance in even her pinky
To write like her a dream
She must be a passionate soul
To reach debts of such a degree
Where we’ll go you never know
Just have to keep on reading
It’s true her muse is not a prude
They’ve a great ruby relationship
Poems not slow perhaps obtuse
Hard to speak understand lips
I use words that rhyme too much
So I admire her free style forte
She can rhyme and do trust
She always has something to say
I’m in a bit of a writer’s block
So I’m looking for inspiration
Ink Empress is my first stop
A creative soul joyful celebration
Stuck? Traveling through my minds' quotient
I seek the ultimate of thus an idea
Focusing on the inevitable
Pondering with a thought! A phenomena!
The concept - thought process
Skipped a beat - the forbidden mingle
Exclaimed - exhausted per se!
Flutters with that of a wink and yet too , A giggle!
The block - it's tantalizing drama within
Whispering sweet nothings - A charm! A wit!
The audastic of the ideal in tune with your head
But yet it consumes ideas complex not to fit...
Writers block
I’m Writing the attributes of my characters for a book
It’s like talking to the therapist
Character one M- authoritative, everybody scared of him. Looks possessed.
Character two S- Queen bee who sat on her seat, only got up to fight,
Stirring her pot her big mouth, seeing things.
Character three K- Fist fighter with a mission.
It’s about a story on how they lived in modern society. All knowledge was there. They just had to look for it. A middle-class family. Just sitting there in the dark, curtains shut. I don’t know how to explain it. Why would anyone back them I don’t know. Maybe I think of a horror story as refence, Amityville back in the eighties, maybe. I think they all possessed. Trying to imagine a conclusion for it, its hard to think.
Now can’t find how to put them in a setting. Any ideas?
Writers block, writers block
TickTock, flop, sing, sha -BAM
Whimsical whoozy- OH
I think I just found my writing flow.
Whimsical white word wizzardry
Really something heard or said to me
Inspired by the greats of poetry
Teal thoughts hard soft like lake deep
Emerald energy synergy all bottled up
Red romantic fantasy that I’m the star of
Singing off key to songs in the blue truck
Black ink is strong driven by pen of love
Like a dragonfly buzzing boisterous around
Oil anointed by amethyst acrostic’s sound
Cringing at raspberry rough draft on my page
Keeping humble laughs indigo ideas I chase
When setting out to write this verse
I came under the abominable 'ho-hum' curse
of the unfathomable dreaded writer's block
as the muse of opportunity refused to knock
completely void the brain pulled a blank
running on fumes with an empty tank
and of inspiration there was none
in the hot seat I was under the gun
in my mind's eye and at my fingertips
strange to say words could not pass my lips
altho' I can go one better I know
a short poem from me today would be... 'Po'
she is in an orange block mood
with a touch of turquoise
smiling at the world
smelling violets
the sun gives her a bit of a wink
she thinks of lemons and limes
words jump around in her head
they are jumbled, but lovely
gathered in the corner of her essence
she gleans spiritual knowing
a clairaudient, she sees without trying
loving her orange block mood
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.