Creativity Poems - Poems about Creativity

What is risk if not an invitation to break through our existing stagnation. We have given up our precious freedom and invited in a life of boredom. Could coincidences in life be clues? Are they hints, the direction we should choose? Should we unleash the habits of our past? Should we break them like chains, take risks at last? Our fear...

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GOTCHA! Poem written for GOTCHA Poetry Contest, Mystic Rose, sponsor, July 25, 2025 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Tingly skies full of surprise oh how I love when with surmise, the little rascal aims his dart as if it were, poetic art !" With a flick of fate, the chubby cherub archer draws back his bowstring, ...

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playful progeny of my creativity the product of my muse ~ I gave it my all AP: 1st place 2025, Honorable Mention 2025 ...

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"AI has stolen the imagination from writers. The human writer is the true creator from their heart. AI is the great copier because they have No heart to write with." By Poet  Writers imaginations like to play, with creativity and words each day. Only with a writers big human heart, a writer gets their pen in hand to start. Keeping...

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Creativity, When our Lord Jesus created the heavens and the earth, The light day and the darkness the night. He gave us all a creative mind. Creativity dwells within When singing, reading, dancing, and praising. Creativity is in breaded in everything that we do , cooking, cleaning, To the accounting, electrician and the plumber creativity is in you . That...

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If all is of mind, then what are we doing? Physical life, is it worth pursuing? So discouraging, so immature, How can mere man, ever endure? The mind can think in such jubilations, Creative thoughts giving sensations. We rush to create, with no time to spare, No patience displayed; we do not dare. Take our time, uncertain as it seems, Let thoughts mature manifesting...

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Earth's door is always ajar We are vulnerable Free will is lemon merengue pie And as we bake, the oven door is closed. Perfection is a woman Compassion whips world wars Confront and slay each ghostly ill, And men of steel won't wander far from home. Free will is an open door Choose the blind man's mission Each pupil of irises falls and rise, And each...

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if its not written from the heart or soul then chances are it's a i...

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When creativity whispers in the dark, A voice both foreign and familiar, I wonder: who am I to answer? Who am I to shape these words into being? The blank page waits, patient as winter, While doubt circles like a restless crow. Perhaps today I'll listen to its cawing— Perhaps tomorrow I'll be brave. But something stirs beneath the hesitation, A current older than...

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It’s there, you really need to see, your beautiful tree, of creativity. With nature you know, nothing is perfect. We all grow in our own crazy direction. We are tall, strong, with deep connections Branches may bend in slightly weird ways But we are grounded, the world around us looks astounded. Your roots are deep in the soil but you reach oh so...

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ahhh... the crisp feel of the new notebook its spine never cracked open its pages of virgin white perfectly aligned awaiting their marching orders eager for all and any pen markings from sunday best handwriting to doodles inviting playful interaction your creative élan of spontaneity random thoughts splashed on a page scripted lines scribbled to offload a mind seeking clarity, peace or absolution seeking a semblance...

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HAIKU is a centuries old Japanese traditional phonetical & cultural poetic form whereas HIKU is a relatively recent reference to the 75year old established haiku in English. Hiku being an imagist tristich like its elder cousin,without a title,and with a similar economy of words ,inherently enigmatic & with a caesura or an ellipsis...

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Boundaries defined, Freedom finds a focused path, New blooms push through cracks. ©bfa042425 ...

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I am a dare-dreamer, a mask wearer a soul bare-r (but not always my own); a word-weaver. I pull at thoughts like strings. Strings of cobwebs and cirrus, frayed dungarees and threadbare memories until I warp and weft strings of thoughts into poems. Sometimes I get caught in my own knots— I cut myself loose of those naughty strings. I...

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Playing with words is like playing with Play-Doh for the first time, mixing colors messing with structures, feeling it's designs between your fingers. All five of them. And then delicately stroking its surface with the others, learning to comprehend the difference between smooth and rough, and that the difference between them defines beauty. It's like wiping the floor clean with its sticky skin, and...

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