I try channeling my inner Inky
Where ideas stream like a spring
With elegance in even her pinky
To write like her a dream
She must be a passionate soul
To reach debts of such a degree
Where we’ll go you never know
Just have to keep on reading
It’s true her muse is not a prude
They’ve a great ruby relationship
Poems not slow perhaps obtuse
Hard to speak understand lips
I use words that rhyme too much
So I admire her free style forte
She can rhyme and do trust
She always has something to say
I’m in a bit of a writer’s block
So I’m looking for inspiration
Ink Empress is my first stop
A creative soul joyful celebration
Stuck? Traveling through my minds' quotient
I seek the ultimate of thus an idea
Focusing on the inevitable
Pondering with a thought! A phenomena!
The concept - thought process
Skipped a beat - the forbidden mingle
Exclaimed - exhausted per se!
Flutters with that of a wink and yet too , A giggle!
The block - it's tantalizing drama within
Whispering sweet nothings - A charm! A wit!
The audastic of the ideal in tune with your head
But yet it consumes ideas complex not to fit...
Writers block
I’m Writing the attributes of my characters for a book
It’s like talking to the therapist
Character one M- authoritative, everybody scared of him. Looks possessed.
Character two S- Queen bee who sat on her seat, only got up to fight,
Stirring her pot her big mouth, seeing things.
Character three K- Fist fighter with a mission.
It’s about a story on how they lived in modern society. All knowledge was there. They just had to look for it. A middle-class family. Just sitting there in the dark, curtains shut. I don’t know how to explain it. Why would anyone back them I don’t know. Maybe I think of a horror story as refence, Amityville back in the eighties, maybe. I think they all possessed. Trying to imagine a conclusion for it, its hard to think.
Now can’t find how to put them in a setting. Any ideas?
Writers block, writers block
TickTock, flop, sing, sha -BAM
Whimsical whoozy- OH
I think I just found my writing flow.
I live on writer’s block
Licorice streets poetic trees
Huge house on the hilltop
Walls made of words
Some hard as bricks
Others soft as a cherry kiss
Floors formed from passion
That like me were walked on
Leaving only shadows no steps
For me to learn how to move on
I live on writer’s block
Where women are too strong
To show weaknesses withering
Like night flowers in sun too long
Shivery is dead what else can live
In a cold lonely bed of fibs
Where lies are fried for breakfast
Scrambled like eggs and bacon
If you can stand to eat despite grief
For disappointment is appetite taken
I live on writer’s block where
Pessimistic parakeets parade
Flying with colorful wings
Like living rainbows above a grave
Breathing life in dead poetry
That slides down pastel page
Where muse refuses to speak
Oh what a waste
Flee the scene
before the dawn
frames the escape.
Treat with plenty of faith
& you can suspend belief,
like the irony
in how it takes a cynic
to persuade.
Poetic contracts speak
for a Man,
and a lord,
between a grave;
wonders death doesn’t come
when you’re aware of some strings,
even when waves roll back,
they tend to more often break
solely to come back again
and continue to take.
A power
to turn entire coasts
into the oceans deep.
A power
of breaking chains,
and setting free
the wings of angels
and their screams,
by tossing their guarded
and posts
into the tides
of the seas.
You’re not fleeing the scene
you’re redirecting,
and setting a stage.
Think again…
or, for once
and breathe.
Remember
of the unintended shadows
fallen in between
the ideas,
the words,
and the worlds of things.
You’re only claiming
of what you can’t see
of what we can’t know.
Anything can rise out.
Anything can become again.
That’s the curse of hope
that can never leave.
Let it go
And let it be.
What a sham,
I’m still fleeing the scene.
took a break overwhelmed by hack/theft
words began to blur with growing anger
enjoyment for writing began to fade
sitting with a blank stare with writers block
the pen touched the paper lacking intention
doodling to revive a creative spark
try again tomorrow or the next day
five months later writing again
I’ve never been a writer, but when I have the time.
I try to think up some ideas to write a random rhyme.
Sometimes it works and I think up something new.
Other times I just scratch my head, as I haven’t got a clue.
Now I’m staring at a blank screen, unable to think.
And my brains just like a pen, that's run out of ink.
Analogy's a great theme, I’ve not done that before
Already hit a brick wall, as I can't think of anymore.
Should I write about a dream, romance, or secret fears?
Looking for inspiration, but still with no ideas.
I try using my imagination, so I write down a few lines.
Then look for other words, to try and make them rhyme.
My plan was to create a poem, with poise and eloquence.
But everything I write down, just simply makes no sense.
So, to spark creativity I recall something from the past.
Ideas come and go, but the moment doesn't last.
I suppose my brain is scrambled and running a bit too slow.
I attempt to write something meaningful, but nothing seems to flow.
I guess writing poetry is not as easy as it looks.
So I admire all those poets, whose work is published in a book.
Loss for thought and words
Where do I start?
My thoughts become a depart
Memory usually serves me
But not today
No one seems to understand
I am trying to compose
But no suppose
It seems Alpha Letters have no idea
I am thinking fear
No idea in how to preserver
Trouble near
Writers Block woes
For the first time
I need to relax and reserve my energy
Later think
For now, let me take a restful wink.
writers block.
Stare at the clock.
like the rest of the flock.
writers block.
Writer’s block is a horrible thing.
Like cabinets slamming shut.
So the writer’s block begins.
Day one of writer’s block.
Nothing except single words.
And then single letters scattered.
Sitting on the couch.
Sighing slightly.
Nothing is fun anymore.
I could cook a slice of toast.
Or simply order pizza.
Nothing comes to mind.
Except the hunger.
Under the sink, it is leaking slowly.
Scratching my back.
Trying to grasp the bugs.
I have writer’s block.
And it will never go away.
I got in my car to head to the store.
I bought things I didn’t need.
Coupons expire.
Grocery carts squeal.
Go home to the writer’s block.
Go to bed and have a dream of words and phrases.
Draining slowly.
They say writer’s block is a horrible thing.
And that’s all I can say.
Looking at a white blank page
As if it has something to say
Word wizard won’t you rescue me
Lot lizard don’t please for free
Muse is confused she needs prayer
I’m bored and blue without her care
Watching blood moon peeking cloud
Pen saint or sin but write it down
Writer’s use pen like a needle
Now and then pulse is feeble
Needing eyes to spy written words
To feel alive and fly like bird
This poem sucks like babe on breast
Writer’s block is still a turquoise test
I never pass it I cheat with finesse
Blood moon spoons me food to digest
Gone Missing
As the new day awaits its morning sun,
the blank page for my poem also waits.
In stillness I listen for an inner voice,
only to hear a deep silence in my soul.
Ends end from where beginnings begin,
but before I can end it I have to begin it.
All I need is that one elusive key word
to massage this pain of self-made hell,
this page containing only a promise of
what may be worthy to be called poetry.
As the sun sets, my page and I sit,
still waiting for what’s gone missing.
Here I sit again uninspired
No pencil no pen no keyboard desired
I have to write or I have to play
It is my life but just not today
A pen is just plastic
Pencil is wooden stick
Wouldn't it be fantastic
If I could wave it
And have it create
My great emerald escape
From writers block and lost
Fire or desire to make
A funny limerick lemon
With sweet and sour rhymes
Or stories graced within them
Red romance of a valentine
Or if words escape me
Can the melody jump from inside
And my pink piano playing
Inspire tears of beauty from blue eyes
Nope not tonight
There shall be no such delight
So eyes shall read by moons light
The poems online I find
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