Writing Poems
The Written Word
by John Michaelson
The Written Word by John Michaelson
The infinite and eternal power of the written word,
Penned naked and vulnerable on the page,
Lies only in the destiny of its earnest reader,
With its untapped potential trapped in its cage.
As its curves and its corners are flowing with ease,
Whether handwritten, typed or etched,
Its power to influence the reader it attracts,
......
Old Gold
by Evelyn Judy Buehler
I had for long been impoverished, as is often the case with writers,
Though I worked most diligently, at times even pulling all-nighters.
Rosy dreams kept me going, although times were frequently rough,
As black night fuels its moonlight, lending reveries that turn to fluff.
My friends and family tried to help, by permitting me frequent loans,
As steady waves forever assist, to make hued pebbles out of stones.
Each day I grew steadily older, however my life was going nowhere,
......
Paper Cliffs
by Leo Warne
A paper cliff, and a crashing wave,
stick figures walking across the page,
nighttime curls,
and the darkness furls,
and in the starlight's shadows,
there grows to be a gallows.
Towards the ledge,
come back from the edge.
Figures turns around,
......
Ode, To Writer's Block
by Leo Warne
Oh, writer's block how you confound me.
You've become my greatest enemy.
Thought's buried in my mind,
why is it that you hide?
Words I plead with you to come out,
won't you please let the thoughts sprout?
All the thoughts have fled my head,
everything's already been said,
still I search and try to find
......
Lazy Writer
by Tyler Morello
It's time to write, said I, but nothing came,
The page was empty, void of text and tone,
I looked down at the pencil, limp and lame,
A mass of worthless wood and staidest stone.
It's time to write, said I, but nothing worked,
The page beneath me, crinkled on its fringe,
Whose empty lines and whiteness had me irked,
Its incompletion frankly made me cringe
It's time to write, begged I, but nothing stayed,
Erased so many times I could not read,
......
Scribbles of the Soul
by Aditi Hayaran
When stuck in the storm of thoughts,
Take a pen and write it down
Just anything that can express the pain
Even if it can't heal you completely,
It may reduce the storm to a rain.
When you feel hurt or broken,
Don't keep it unspoken.
-Aditi Hayaran (Larkspur)
not to the swift
by Rikske Kessner
They cling to the weight of their quill,
the tactile sensation, grounding them,
yet, the digital tide pulls at their resolve,
urging them to adapt or be left behind.
Nostalgia blooms in the scent of old books,
memories of applause, now distant echoes,
the poet's dilemma, a struggle within,
to honour tradition or embrace the new.
......
Stillborn
by Peter Quitadamo
Words painfully birth
from my anxious mind to ink -
My child was stillborn.
"the process of removing toxic substances"
by Soulayma A.
Why do I write?
.
Is that because writing is the act of being alive as Ryad said?
Even when I cannot breathe, I can write what suffocates me before my heart stops beating. I would point to the sun and make my last poem out of rays instead of words.
Is it because I’m still not healed yet?
But how much does it take? Three years of medication, 3 thousand words per month, 3 colors of dying, 6 new haircuts. I’ll break the record if I kept changing, I’ll break the record but I will not be healed.
Is it because, I write cuz I can do nothing about my rage, the rage that I don’t even recognize?
Writing is my "detoxification", but what if I was made of poison? When will I be healed?
......
My Merciless Muse
by Michael J. Nappi
I stand back, and light the fuse,
hoping, to awake my muse.
She could be found anywhere,
yet, when I call her, she's not there.
In field of clover, with no pen,
my muse flies to me again.
When I'm busy, hard a work,
she teases me, what a jerk.
......
