Creative. Poems - Poems about Creative.

The Bot as a Bard’s Boat

When ideas are locked in a cage,
The bot frees poetry of its rage,
Like analgesics on a fresh wound—
A turbulent sea where pains are drowned.

The goal’s not to write, but to refine,
To make rhythms, forms, and each word align;
Quick to shape poems to perfection,
Bringing finesse to art’s reflection.

But its pen drips with glib emotions,
It revels in

Creative Communication

We poets, writers, misfits of the world 
like artist or mystics or troubadours
use our gifts to give insight to others
we offer more pulling back the covers.

We did not fit in with most of our peers.
When young we were often taunted to tears.
We often were quiet in our own zone.
And most of the time you’d find

Creative Potato

Creativity comes and goes. 
That’s what she believes, she named Cho. 
Cho happens to be a potato. 
Creativity comes and goes because Cho just knows. 
When Cho the potato gets creative, 
She eases in with simple watercolor. 
Creativity starts to be invasive 
as her mind races for more, oh brother. 
Oils, dance, pottery, and art,

Definition of me

I AM A MOVING SPIRIT OF WELL-BEING DANCING IN THE MELODY OF MY OWN SONG.

Creative Writings

Creative Writings 
Self doubt declines. 
This is your season of change. 
Be open minded. 
Not pessimistic. 
Learn to grow. 
Sometimes pencil to error. 
Keep on writing. 
Keep on brainstorming. 
Through creative writings. 
Creative thinking. 
Black ink flows through blank spaces. 
Rhythms to azure rhymes. 
Poetry am I. 
Publish your own remarkable life.

ADHD - Don't trip up over something that's behind you

It must’ve been a season,
not your full story.
But every season builds our endurance,
another step towards the glory.
It has helped you realise, 
you need time to heal.
Sometimes we do really need to sit,
just sit and feel.
Pick up the pain, don’t focus on the lost time.
Its all a part of the plan, 
you’re going to be just

Where Does the Time Go

seconds slip through fingers like fine sand,
Minutes melt away in morning light.
Hours stretch and bend at day's demand,
Then vanish with the coming night.

Where does the time go when we look away?
When laughter fills a room, when tears fall free?
It pools in moments we cannot delay,
Then rushes forward, boundless as the sea.

It hides in coffee cups and halfway smiles,
In bedtime stories, stretching past their end.
It's lost in daydreams spanning countless miles,
And found in conversations with a friend.

Where does the time go? Perhaps it never leaves—
Just changes form like water, air, and light.
Becoming memory that gently weaves
The tapestry we carry through the night.

Self-Esteem Odes To

From the words of my beloved partner~ he spoke I inked

She’s a clutch player who excels under pressure 
She’s Johnny on the spot with tenacious resolve, 
One who is extremely creative, an innovative marvel
For example, surprisingly adept to any endeavors
in which she partakes and is quite vivacious, 
A zany sense of humor 
with a touch

Chocolate

A luscious taste on the tongue
Melts in an instant
Hazel nuts or almond, milk
Or sweet caramel,
Chocolatier's
Creative
Art ~

The sky and the ocean

The sky and the ocean
The light and the darkness
The sun and the moon
The pink and the blue
My paintings, 
Poems, and 
Quotes
Everything came true
When I realised
They were all YOU...

National Poetry Month

"A writer must use ink from their heart for their readers." By Poet

Even as a creative "Ghost" writer,
we need "Heart" as we pull an all-nighter.
What will our muse want to "Deliver,"
maybe happy or sad or be a forgiver.
Words can sometimes be very "Tender,"
other times be bold and an offender.
"Erase" is one of our many tools,
no

Prisoner of Poetry

"Some words show up fast, some want to sit and play with us. What can a writer do???" By Poet

I like to write so my words in poetry can live,
letting my imagination come to life with jive.
My ink will not be bound but alive,
for my ink not my blood must write to survive.
Watch out for

The Nudging

What's with this nudging-
this perpetual nudging
from deep within,
urging me to write a poem?

A poem of feelings,
of rhythm and imagery.
And I am willing-
Grasping for words,
phrases, perhaps
something in iambic pentameter.

But I am so spaced out.

I swivel my eyes-
back to front,
peering into the folds of my
spaced-out mind.

My impenetrable gaze
sifts through gray matter,
where arteries pulse
with bright scarlet oxygenated blood,
where

World is the sole creative art

Sow seeds before green garden ye savour, 
Eat fruits of toil and sweat only thy own, 
Quote no quotes often chewed, void of flavour, 
No garden goes green, not by hard toil grown. 
Be it an insight, brainwave as never,
One’s own muse is most inspiring maid known. 

For long man, who’s forbidden fruits desired, 
Goes

My Life is a Poem

From my childhood to adulthood my
Spirit always wrestled with navigating the 
Tumultuous torrent of others thoughts
and opinions seeking to discover and
Hear my own voice.

I pen my journey, my spirit, my home.
A masterpiece crafted in passion and strife,
In each fading chapter, my life is a poem. 

Each day a stanza, each moment a line,
Ink of my

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