Journaling Poems - Poems about Journaling

Poetry can be simple prose, Or rhyming lines. Poetry can convey a message …in brief, Or emote a feeling During a time of need. Socializing is innate. We need to communicate, to vent our thoughts, free our mind, ...

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Have you ever seen the glimmer in my eye? Have you heard the thump of my heart? As quiet as it may be, just your sight sends me soaring. Just your presence brings miniature clouds of heaven. What is love without a feeling? What is love without a challenge? ...

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Picture frame the moments. In diaries write them down. Hold on to such with all you have for times will come around, when they will be all that you have to make it one more day. And on that day let all else go… then you will find the way. ...

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In my paper kingdom, words abound, I reign as king without a crown, I have no chalice, throne, or gown, there's no adoring crowd around, In my paper kingdom, words abound, the lay of land is margined ground, my fortress ruled and spiral-bound, while a moat of feathered ink surround, In my paper kingdom, words abound, where bardic verses are profound, when all I...

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Surprise! The power of journaling, To keep your goals aligned and life fulfilling. Our creator knows us inside out, And in our prayers, we can find the route. Quiet time with the Lord, pen and paper in hand, Jot down the thoughts and goals, make a stand. Observe the percentage, how prayers are answered, God's faithfulness shown, as life's path is traversed. Journaling...

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Lust, greed, anger, envy, prejudice, Malice, fear – all negatives we possess, Traits we must conquer to be our best, But how do we start? What's the first step? Is it to meditate or to reflect? To journal our thoughts and introspect? Is it to seek therapy or to connect, With loved ones, to learn to accept? The journey's not easy, that we...

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There are days that I forgot about. Days that still astonish me. All those little catastrophes. Scribbles and capital letters. There were days that are blank. That were joyous and engrained. Or wallowing. Or maybe I was just on some vacation. Setting the journal aside in frustration sometimes. Or moments of writing that were compulsive....

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He wrote poems that were indicative of blueberries soaked in vinegar. He wrote of the shadows between light and dark, but mostly he counted the gray hairs of thinning memories. The more he wrote the more crippled his dreamscapes, he began to word-paint an unprintable oblivion. Snow keeps falling. Ink turns to an Indigo mud, a smeared script meandering through a white blank-face. Archaeologist have fallen asleep in his...

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