Notepad Poems

Echoes that entices, suffices

In the quagmire ooze of daily trudge,
where the mire of monotony
clings cold, congealed in sorrow,
it takes only a spark of inspiration,
to transform an ordinary morsel
into a shimmering taste of sheer joy.
Echoes that entices, suffices.

I carry my sample bag handy,
stocked with my pet peeves in reverse.
Tiny things that you take time
to notice, and create space for, 
that bring gemstones of joy shining:
The smell of rain, with storm's first drops.
The wispy waft of coffee, freshly brewed.
A rare bird sighted or heard, out of season.
A few chords of a beloved song.
Warm socks from the dryer.
A wink, glace, a tiny half-backed smile.
First touch of warm hands.
Fresh bread from the oven.
Noticing my things I placed in extraordinary ways.
A doodle scribbled on my notepad 
Inspiring word or phrases recorded.
Doing things at half-speed, to spool like honey.
In all these little ways on long days 
these echoes entice, suffice.

Yesterday

No longer can I write for soup
Not even a poem on poop
I'm cheating I'm using AI
If challenged of course I'll deny!
Aliens whisked my brain away ...
Was normal until yesterday!
My notepad is now firmly shut
I'm bereft, my brain is kaput!

My Point of View

Onigiri is another level,
I don't know a place called Seattle,
I took a ladle,
Put it on a table,
I don't know where I'm going at,
I took a sat,
I see myself as a lad,
I don't want to be sad,
I took a notepad,
From the wad,
I stare at the ceiling,
As if I'm on a sailing,
I am not wailing,
But I am piling,
All the reasons I left behind,
For now, I am not resigning,
From what I am trying to define,
The meaning of refine,
I remind myself the since,
I don't take a Hinch,
Even a sinch,
Over something that is so clingy,
To hold onto a blingy,
My burger is zingy,
With a taste I hold onto,
With a pinch of cilantro,
It is my intro,
I keep on going,
For what I am doing,
I love myself in this song,
Is this what I am looking for?
Until my hands are sore,
To the day, I want to do the chores,
Look, it is my other course,
I try to find the source,
Here is my sauce.

Eulogizing

A lover and a brother are heavy.
Recounting the contents of life is work.
A vessel holding unaccountable dust
may be volumes for a biographer’s notepad.
   “I miss she real bad!”
Whittled words.
Ponderous, leaky expression
surrendered by gross vulnerability,
and maybe a short lexicon.

A lover and a brother
and their handheld tomb,
this wild man pair in tropical print-
cotton tops mirroring loopy island ladies
under pineapple/banana coronets-
standing shoeless upon burning shores,
bearing their dead love,
gone sooner than hope had promised...
fish feed in a jar.

Industrious Employee

Busy as a bee
Sticky as a notepad
Ending at roadside.

Oh Notepad

It's here
I dump my thoughtful odes
The words unchecked
As brain downloads

This snow white
Electric paper faux
Is where my heart-felt
Ravings go

I tap, delete
I type and scroll
Construct a rhyme
Pithy and droll

The black on ivory
Stark and crude
To deeper feelings
Will allude

So as this self
Effacing track
Develops with it's 
Clicky clack

I meditate
On all before
Invite them in
As if by door

To life and love
To hope and loss
To friendships, new
To birth or cross

With thankful heart
And no disdane
For poet's muse
Doth still remain

If Only You Knew

If only you knew the struggles I have had,
many were very sad.
My kind and loving dad,
knew I was never bad.
I should have kept a notepad,
about the people that made me mad.
If only I had not worn plaid,
I could now sell it in a for sale ad

I Love My Sunshine

I look at you, you're like the sun
You warm my face, see you're the one
Who makes me smile like no one can
And to this day I recall when
The first time was I saw you sing
'Twas then my winter turned to spring
Such beauty up there on the stage
Since then I've read you page by page
To get an understanding of
What makes you you, and then came love
That blossomed from the dreams I've had
Of you and I, my mind's notepad
Is filled with poems tried and true
And most I post, a way for you
To read about my deepest thoughts,
To know for sure it's you I've sought
I keep this tucked away inside
My love for you is far and wide
It covers every street I cross
I tell you uno, you tell me dos
You know I know, I know you know
But I still like to tell you so...ILU

She wrote

With a pen she wrote a story,
Stretched across her old notebook.
About a girl who wanted to be noticed,
And a boy who refused to look.
And she wept and wept and wept,
Leaving an inky, tear-sodden page,
But she swept the issue under a rug, 
And brought it all down to their age.

With the same pen she wrote,
This time on a newer, nice notepad.
About her dropping, declining grades,
And how her parents were so mad.
And she tried and tried and tried,
To hold her emotions behind her eyes,
And she realised she would never be good enough.
No matter how hard she tried.

With a drag and a puff of smoke,
And something alcoholic between her lips,
She wrote drunkenly on a piece of paper,
About how her life had come to this. 
And she winced and winced and winced,
At the messy drawings on her am,
How some were faded, how some were fresh.
How she could cause herself such harm.

With her crimson wrists the subject, 
And a piece of broken glass.
She wrote her final story,
Before her body would finally pass.
And she stayed silent, silent, silent.
She was a stature laying in red.
She thought
“What use to words on paper have
When I am already
Truly
Dead.”

Compulsive writing Disorder

Khandahar is where all began IED ignited 
my skull in the blink of an eye Kabul came 

into view as the smoke clears my body was 
being rushed through tunnels the hot sun burning
 
my flesh sand gravel stuck in my pores I remember 
tears on my cheeks that burned like acid rain DOA
 
DOA medic screamed I thought are they talking about me
while my eye ball hung out the eye socket my nasal arch 

was crushed my eye socket crushed my brain hurt 
voices muffled as my body lay there stay with me 

stay with me I was rushed off again through another 
tunnel my brain hurt lights were shining in my eye 

I could not speak where am I my mouth opened 
nothing came out my vision could not focus am I alive 

panic set in I need to know can I be I losing my sight 
medic passes me notepad and pen here dear just write

Words

Quote By Poet "Are you drowning in a pool of letters?
Keep swimming and the words will come."

Words can be happy or sad
made from letters a poet will add.
A writer may use a large notepad,
writing ideas that make them glad.
A poet may want to sit by a pretty lily pad,
then write about their mom and dad.
As they write the letters and words will come,
maybe from the beating of the steel drum.
Can you hear the great hum,
while chewing fruited gum.

To Princess Lilibet

Little princess charming,
We are still trying in Baha'i faith
To fit you in
Somewhere, somehow, in a legacy
Where a chest of drawer of an Airbnb
Will see on a true pious Friday,
What oracles are all about
even in silicon valley
or on a notepad of a handwritten
Clinton B. Seeley.

The Auditing of Far Away

"The Auditing of Far Away"

Back in those days,
before the real 
war landed 

they thought it 
prudent to
intervene.

the lashing was 
administered
in a comfortable chair

the cone of silence
waited in the other
with notepad and pen

the auditing began.
it fell on deaf ears
what spoke, was not inside.

what was inside
was far away    ;

(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)

Mcwhirtle: I Write Because

*Image of Notepad by Pixabay.

McWhirtle: I Write Because

I write because,
the birds cannot,
the trees, the streams,
the mountaintop,

Had they a voice,
sounds will swap, yet,
add with words, be,
cream of the crop.

2022 August 27
*4th Place*
I write because
~~Anoucheka Gangabissoon: Judged 2022 September 13

I'd Rather

I'd rather write poems
Than clean up my house,
The dust in the corners
Is two inches thick.

The counters are cluttered
The bed is a mess,
The bats in the belfry
Won't leave me alone.

They flit and they flutter,
Make all kinds of noise,
The words they throw out
Just don't seem to rhyme.

Where is my notepad,
Where is my pen,
This thought is so fleeting
It won't last for long.

I'm going to journey
A map work of words,
Hung in my mind 
like a vast universe.

• Short Notepad Poems
• Famous Notepad Poems
• Best Notepad Poems
• Read Notepad Poems
• Long Notepad Poems
• Notepad Quotes