Long Uninspired Poems
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I rip the cloth off
Rip the clothes
I am stripped
Down to who knows
Who knows me
Without digging deep
Who hears my voice
When I speak
Do I whisper
Do I soar
Do I come for more
I am tired
Feeling uninspired
I try to do
Everything required
Then I stop
And I listen
To my inner intuition
It says
Chetta make it better
You are so clever
Keep your head up
Get yourself together
You are worth it
Get the courage
Do your thing
Don't get discouraged
Don't cry
You are what lies
Lies in between greatness
Your gifted is an understatement
Replacing you ain't no replacement
I see your inner
You are a winner
Just the beginning
Get ready for you are winning
Then I hear this other voice
Says
You will do what you are here to do
I will see out your vision
Help you through difficult decisions
Revisions , revise
I see the look in your eyes
The passion. , the interaction
The editing the drafting
I'm like a boat I'm rafting
Like a drawing I'm crafting
Like a Picasso
I'm not false tho
I can give it to you
It's going cost tho
Not money
But time
I am an unfinished rhyme
One of a kind
Yes
I'm human in the flesh
Still perfecting
Not neglecting myself
Helping myself
To climb ladders
And trying to lay out the platter
Trying to chatter
Chit chat
Trying to run it back
I did
Rewind, fast forward
Jump aboard
Rip it
The clothing
Strip it back down
I am going to be phenomenal this go round
And with my greatness I will not bother
I was created by the greatest creator my father
Written by:Concetta Hardnett
04/28/2022
r creative block:terms for a period when an artist,
including a musician, has difficulty producing
new work or ideas. A phase of dormancey
frustration or absent mindedness.
Dry spell or funk: Informal terms
used to describe an uninspired phase.
A search for incubat.
Incubation: In the creative process,
this is described as a necessary period
of stillness and rest where ideas can form
subconsciously before the
active creation phase begins
Apate and Antheia wished attention
they were ignored by Jupiter who turned his head as they bored him
that they acted like Coupltans but were Separtious.
They sought togetherness but theree spirt was devisive.
They saw Saronia who was atheletic and endowed.
He turned his head from them as he spoke yet one frill isn't worth the loss of
the love I have established with Ate.
They took there nastiy's to one who depiesed his look and in his presence
he spoke kind
but his objhectives were against him being loved by a woman. He wished him to bve considered same in his
coupling might he then could use him to seem like a fair catch when he spoke against him. The two went to him for attention
and even this lonely being refused there company due to there ways of catogorizing folk.
The Human Experience leads one ro respect of him as a person
and man. Then to share gis name is a honor to the ansecters and generations to come.
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The silence is deafening
yet loud
& can be heard
through all the noise
He heard the void is quiet
& unforgiving
devoid of passion
to employ
With illusions overflowing
he appears
like a mirage
in barren deserts
The magic tricks
are so dryly uninspired
in need of fertile soil
& wetter weather
This place is so inspiring
altogether
full of many things
that you can glean
It's like falling through space
into the clouds
& stopping there
for lucid dreams
Similar to where he's from
or so it seems
he'd heard the word
from empty mouths
He said to himself they're
falling fast
like timbered trees
chasing dead paper
& empty clout
The human mind was
raptured out
replaced by another
from foreign lands
Into the vessel it came
so lightening fast
electrifying what once
was an empty man
The hands of time
stood in a trance
still to the clocks
& hourglass
Rebirth is like seeing life
through a kaleidoscope
& constantly evolving
plexiglass
They say the first
shall be last
& the last will be
pushed to front
of lines
These lines are
crystal clear
like ocean water
receding from shores
in drastic times
Bearing down like the sun
in streams of shine
with a piercing aim
to open eyes
Disaster comes
when you overlook
what you should have seen
now the arching waves
are on the rise
FIT AS A FIDDLE
I used to be fit as a fiddle
When I was in my prime.
I could run the London Marathon
In a perfectly reasonable time.
I would play five sets of tennis,
Then dance throughout the night
And still be at the local gym
Before it was even light.
My body was slim and wiry;
They called me a fitness freak.
And all the prettiest girls in town,
Admired my fine physique.
But all of that was long ago,
These days I’m uninspired.
Just watching the London Marathon,
Leaves me feeling tired.
Yes, I used to fit as a fiddle,
Slim and full of grace.
But now, alas, my figure
Resembles a double-bass
5th August 2022
Simile Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Hilo Poet
This harrowing day has consumed me with bleak
as I cannot speak I shut the door…
I am weak, saturated in my own sorrow,
sick in my own destruction of self of love.
Like a glove squeezing taunt against my gaunt heart
wrenching apart my clinging threads of mind
left behind as I try to fill my day with matter…
I shatter.
As I cannot speak I shut the door,
today I want no more than a gently hand to reach me,
touch me…
just be as though I had some kind of intent,
bent up and busted inside my beating chest
today my suffering finds no rest.
Black clouds hang dark to suffocate my space,
a face left faceless suspended and void
yet an asteroid of emotion lives within me.
I look around this day and I want to see
eyes wide open searching free but I am weak
as I cannot speak I shut the door.
Where do I go, what do I feel?
This real we call our waking hours in days,
surreal to me my heart’s blaze burns cold…
and I am old,
grown tired, uninspired of a sequestered soul
I lye ailing, dribbling down this lonesome hole.
Today I want no more than a gentle hand to reach me,
touch me…understand
that I hunger day and night in this demented fight
to reach new heights in connection of a kind,
yet today I find I am weak…
as I cannot speak I shut the door.
Rogue and destitute,
In dreamlessness I drift
Stolen by the numbness of routine
I lack your acceptance; I crave the pristine
Your pivoting words both lull and dull me
I harden day by day in its power
Though inside, the spark still lives
Gaining ground in an otherwise lost heart
Toil I must
Wait, I trust
Can you not grab hold of life and hurl these material things?
Can you not, for once, be free of control, and instead live?
Can you bear your force upon me with passion,
Instead of stone-faced apathy?
Direct me, and I will flee from all paths
From all of your torturous machinations
You cannot protect me, destroyer of joy!
Worship your uninspired content,
Your uncurious, indifferent rot
For I must away,
To the greatness of every day
To undo this cursed sleep you have inflicted upon me
Awaken me, undress me, and bathe me in secret exhilarations
And do not look on me like one who regrets,
Do not qualm over this uncontrolled zealot who possesses me
For she dresses you, comforts you, enlivens you, completes you
Every great day
Unironically uninspired,
I drift through the grey,
Floating through hours,
A lone leaf on still water,
Away from my life source,
Insignificant and yet common,
Waiting for the storm.
There’s no fire in my chest,
No spark, no fight,
Just the dull hum of existence,
A clock ticking in a quiet room.
I breathe in the ordinary,
Exhale the mundane.
But then –
the crash,
the crack in the sky,
the world splits open,
and I am alive.
In the chaos,
I find colour.
In the rubble,
I build towers.
When the earth trembles beneath me,
I dance.
Only in the crisis
do I find myself whole.
Unironically, I wait
for the storm,
for the flood,
for the flame,
so I can rise,
so I can burn,
so I can feel
what it means
to be alive.
I’ll make waves.
I’ll be noticed.
I’ll be heard,
listened to,
acknowledged,
remembered.
The Lord’s Prayer in sign language is so beautiful
It’s like a fuchsia finger ballet in blue ocean air waves
If you do watch this display you are blessed
The way you speak to yourself and God
Is important and unique
like a fingerprint on your red heart
Whatever you want to say is okay
So how do you say I’m amber afraid
Of lavender life as a turquoise wife
To a magic man my mind made Mr Right
Not that he is not great
But how do I say he is not my mate
For this reason alone
Cupidity somehow was wrong
And I feel uninspired despite fire sign
And just like that I am over it
My muse is back to her old tricks
I won’t tell her to hit red bricks
She is my companion thin or teal thick
I really love love but it’s just not here yet
No need to worry be in a hurry or fret
How do you say more by saying less
I will give myself flowers and live my best
Life
So out of the three pursuing kings
I choose ME
Since humans surfaced from the slime,
our art has always turned on time,
on measurement, and not on rhyme –
so Solon says (I’m with him):
the heart of art is rhythm.
You want to waltz? You need three-four.
And verse that’s truly free’s a bore!
The drumkit forms rock music’s core,
and Rhapsody in Blue has
wrought classical anew (jazz).
Our architecture, uninspired,
was looking – feeling – somewhat tired.
Then Frank Lloyd Wright, completely wired,
transformed it, not for profit
– have you seen his soffits?
The painter had become a monkey,
just reproducing portraits (clunky)
and soulless seascapes. Things got funky:
what stirred the stiff Sargasso?
A samba called Picasso!
Those Western movies grew so dull,
the steers were ready for a cull:
Italians dispelled the lull,
while Hollywood said, smugly,
“no-one wants good, bad, ugly!”
So, whether you sculpt or you sing,
you groove to The Beatles or Bing,
you think Nat or Elvis is King,
it don’t mean a thing
if it ain’t got that swing!
On a journey to find my way home.
With God, I have found
that I'm never alone.
On my way home.
Searching for the pieces
to mend the creases
Of my broken heart.
Left on the ground.
Stumbled on a woman.
Finally,
it was me that I found.
Tears of sorrow
streaming down my face.
Proceeded my destination.
To this unknown place.
With God, I found
I'm never alone.
I'm On a journey
to find my way home.
To grasp on to those dreams
That I chase.
Only holding on because of
his loving grace.
Searching for meaning in time.
Determined to find
Trying to survive
this mountain that I climb.
Mind wondering as I puffed my cigarette
sip on my wine.
Rich or poor, God was there
When I didn't have a dime.
Through these paths that I've stumbled
I never walked alone.
He was there to keep me strong.
Right or wrong.
Survived the wilderness.
Survived the dirt.
So many times I've been hurt.
What us black women go through.
And so much, we are worth.
God Heald me through the strain.
Through my struggles
My pain.
Survived the battlefield.
Where my blood still remains.
Through poverty, my gains.
Dark clouds and rain.
A sense of peace
Tumbled down on my soul.
A priceless light in my life.
More precious
then diamonds
And gold.
He Heald my legs when they were weak.
Stood me up, as I grew tired.
He sent an Angel of motivation
Whenever I felt uninspired.
In my life.
He's acquired
Because of him
life is so much more.
Finding blessings in my paths,
that has always been in store.
All those dark nights
You were my blanket of security.
Made my world brand new.
The love that you gave.
From my soul Lord.
I thank you.
I always knew
that I was never alone.
Blessings to the people
Who were here and now gone.
To my Angels I love you.
Though I have to go on.
I have to go on.
On my way home.
Dear "God" thank you
for keep me strong.
On My Way Home