Will The Words Come Back?
Words slip off our pen
like warm butter off a knife.
They fall in unison across the page
with everything we write.
Then one day the words don’t flow
in unison like they used to before.
They have no rhythm within them
and just become no more than words.
We look at what we’ve written
and there is no bounce in them.
The words become no more than words
once written by a creative hand.
There is no meaning in what they say
they have no heart anymore.
They are just words written on a page
with no rhyme or reason for them being there.
Some call it a writer’s block;
others call it stagnation of the mind.
The creative juices fall away to nothing,
no spark to be kindled,
no emotions to be released,
no protests to be made,
no stories to be assembled
like a jigsaw in your mind.
Just an empty pen with words
that don’t make sense anymore.
Struggles without feeling,
ideas leading nowhere
on a spiralling downward turn.
You are no longer a writer,
your creativity is gone
and the only question you have,
will the words come came back?
13 July 2009
poem by David Harris
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Related quotes
Words
Words on this paper
Words in my head
Words while I'm texting
Computing
Unsaid
Words between people
Words on the phone
Words upon words
Even when I'm alone
Words from the Bible
I question
Don't mesh
Words from pornography
Making them flesh
Words with flat letters
Written in black
Good words and bad words
You cannot take back
Words that are shallow
Words that are deep
When they're too many
They put me to sleep
Words that I'm writing
And rhyming you read
Whatever I'm saying
There's prolly no need
Words from the alphabet
Words that can't be
When you are blind
And it's Braile that you see
Words that are worthless
And said on the fly
My words or your words
Are most likely lies
Words in a sentence
Wise words or fair
The only words earnest
Are those said in prayer
Written by Sara Fielder © 2011
poem by Sara Fielder
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Working on the value of words
Working on the value of words
~
some words require more
more than being spoken
written, read or listened to
some words need feeling
given their own soul
a touch of emotion
some words fall easily
across the page
or off the tongue
like a catchphrase
meaning almost nothing
words without value
spoken to be heard
said and not listened to
or written and missed
all without feeling
give words emotion
soul, fire and life
give words value
work the next line
poem by Matthew Holloway
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My Words To Be Written
Words can be said, they can be written
they can be funny or sad or informed
words are sought after by everyone
papers, scripts, books, letters or texts
they can gossip, tattle or lie
honest, trust worthy, confusing
written to story or rhyme to rhythm
they can be found in our minds
written or printed they are strong
brought together the bring magic
imaginations, fantasy, real life
many stories and songs by words
have touched the soul with in
my words are to enlighten and entertain your mind
to put you in places we never dreamed
and to think I could of done that
my words to you is my soul to share
written with love, hate and sorrow
take the time to enjoy the words
words make ours dreams come true
poem by Michael Peterson
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Words between words
Words between words
~
I try and say most things subtle
To slip words between words
In the hope you will read and hear
Sometimes I speak with blunt honesty
Sometimes wish I just didn’t speak
Sketching in secret characters
Telling stories built on fantasy
When a subtle look reveals
The obvious biography
Those words between words
What I write, what I speak
I understand words more than people
Words always seem easy
We all have things we wish to say
Some are said, others kept
All that is written then spoken
Are words between words
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Words
Words are my weapon
words are my shield
Guns and knifes just ruin lives
so words I keep concealed
Words are all I have here
they help me struggle on
Words are here forever,
when all I have is gone
In my thoughts or in my poems
Words will help ease my brain
I write down what is on my mind
Expressing love or feeling pain
Not that many I can trust
But words I can depend
Words wont turn there back on you
Words are my only friend
poem by Nic Hillen
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Words on paper
Words on paper
~
Just words on paper
Where a story is told
An emotion revealed
Or a love laid to rest
Where a dream begins
An ambition is spoken
Perhaps a whim of fancy
Takes charge of the pen
To write what is written
Letters forming words
Shapley and beautiful
Expressions of a soul
Or a mind at play
There across the page
Words on paper
Written to have their say
poem by Matthew Holloway
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I Wrote A Poem I Could Not Write
I wrote a poem I could not write-
And then when I tried to write it again
Could not write it again -
Poems written and not written
Words and more words
What do they mean?
Paradoxes and games with words
What do they mean?
If there is Beauty in the language
It is one thing
But words just to hear themselves think,
Why should they mean ‘Remembrance'?
Oh Words oh Questions oh Darkness oh Life-
Let me write myself to the grave
Believing at least
That poems too even when they can be written
Have their small unhidden meanings.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Untitled 15
there is a mountain of words
an ocean of words
a continent of words
there is a rain of words
a flood of words
a river of words and true to their being words
they also disintegrate as syllables
on the other hand some form the clauses
conditions and terms
some make sentences and paragraphs
a world of words full of words
i am not a word and i am buried in a mountain of words
a sea of words i drown
a continent of words i am condemned to walk all the days of my life
too may words my ears do not listen anymore.
my eyes do not like to read anymore.
i like something not having to do with words.
what about a touch? what about a picture?
what about a kiss?
why don't people just make love without saying a word?
let us start touching the hearts of people
to avoid this war of words that lead us to our own perdition.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Writer
From where comes that burning spark
That lights a lantern in the dark,
And from its shadowed prison frees
The story, as the mind it sees.
The thoughts released from darkness then
To form their words before the pen;
These words that come from deep within
Upon the page their freedom win.
And where was just an empty plain
A line is writ and writ again
Of maidens fair and heroes bold,
Until the story all is told.
And there the words - before his eyes
The tale upon the pages lies.
Now in the wider world it lives;
To thoughts, the words, the writer gives.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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Lip Service
Words inspire and words destroy
Words conspire and words annoy
Words spread freedom and words detain
Words believe them in sound refrain
Words of passion in words misleading
Words without action are words without meaning
poem by P.R. Prosper
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Only In My Mind
thoughts fire
mind blaze
run on wind
words sing mind melodies
words sing song new images
dance in heart veins flow
words shape shift
into new thoughts
concepts poems
several are written
in time heart beats
wonder stirs anew
but only in my mind
where the beauty sings
sung sight meditation
no words given unto paper
no words processed on light screen
no words kept mind record
dart of honeybird flight
bats fly sonar night vision
wing beats of wonder
words released born free
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Another nothing poem
Another nothing poem
~
These are just words
Rhyming, walking with rhythm
They do not hate or love
Laugh, cry or shout aloud
They know no malice or jealousy
They just piece together nicely
In a story or a poem
However they are written
Presented on a page
They remain just words
They talk of no living soul
But a fictional character
If one happens to be written
Or a place or feeling
Some may relate to it
You’re free to see what you like
Or dislike in these words
That’s all they are sitting here
Rhyming, walking with rhythm
Across the once blank page
Just another nothing poem
Waiting to be read
poem by Matthew Holloway
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These Words Are Meant For You
So there is no confusion let clarity clarify here
these words on this page are meant for you;
you.
Strung along these lines are precious intents
longing longings from down deep where souls converse,
floodings of sentiments traversing time and distance all
forming a straight line to you.
Gratitude is the staff that allows me to walk and write-
bread given me by you
sustains;
for clarity's sake
understand
these words are meant for you;
you.
Time and distance, acquaintance
and daily externals and such
mean less than these
soul exchanges proffered.
These words are meant for you;
yes you.
In the interstices words allow
in the hurried moments
where emotions and ideas fly
there is only I you and the written page
and that is enough
These words are meant for you-J
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Words are a powerful tool
Words can be cruel
and they can be kind
words can touch the heart
and invade the mind.
Words can be a weapon
as sharp as any knife
they can bring despair
and ruin someone's life.
But words can bring joy
and hope and cheer
words used wisely
can wipe away fear.
Words, words, words,
created in the mind
used to be nasty
or to be kind.
So watch your words
there a mighty tool
they can make you look smart
or an insensitive fool!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Being A Poet
I find that I can compose a poem best,
When I am out walking, or am at rest.
When I am lying in my bed at night,
I think about what I am able to write.
Or when I’m out walking, or sat on a train,
Words and ideas, all rush round my brain.
Sometimes, ideas just appear in my head,
Or may be a result of something I’ve read.
At fellow passengers, on a train, I take a look;
Some chatter away, while others read a book.
But, me, I’m sat there, quietly composing verse;
With dozens of ideas, my creative mind bursts.
If I compose lines on my way into town,
I repeat them over, until I write them down;
If they are not written down straightaway,
Around my mind, other thoughts then play.
There are many things which inspire me to write,
Such as animals, the seasons, and the sky at night.
If I try to force ideas, they just do not flow;
The poem itself, I find, just will not grow.
I like to write on a layperson’s level;
In too much information, I do not revel.
Having chosen a decent subject or idea,
I then need to get my brain in to gear.
Of a subject, I like to consider all of the aspects,
But I keep my writing simple; not too complex.
To make a poem rhyme, words I may change,
But I only use words that are within my range.
In using unfamiliar words, I can see no point;
A nice poem, tricky words, can really disjoint.
Words, within my head, I keep batting around,
Until the perfect combination, is finally found.
With poetry, I really love the creative process,
But over time, I’ve become slightly obsessed.
Sometimes I find myself talking in rhyme;
That I am a poet, this must be a sure sign.
Of my finished poems, I often feel proud;
One day, I’ll be brave and read them aloud.
Into my swirling head, ideas continue to pop;
I love writing poetry and never want to stop!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Love Letter
She wonders how to begin her letter
She knows he will read each word
Greedily for any hint of love. She knows
He will sniff the paper for any scent of her
She leans an elbow on her writing desk
And clutches her pen tight. She has got
As far as, Dear John, but then the words
Stopped coming. Before she had sat down
To write, the words flowed through her
Mind like a rushing stream, now nothing
She sucks the end of the pen. Say what
You would if you were face to face, her
Mother always said. She tries to imagine
He is there before her and what she would
Say if he was, but still no words will come
He writes to her so fluently when he writes
He always seems to know what to write
And how to put it into words. She tries again
Puts the pen nib onto the paper, gripping
The pen tighter. She reads what she’s written
Dear John. The pen moves, the words begin
To flow, her hand moves across the page
The images come into her mind as she writes
The things that they said last time they met
The things they did, she blushes slightly
That almost being caught out by the maid
In a state of undress. She pauses the pen
And sits gazing at the painting on the wall.
She looks back at the paper and starts again
The words tripping over themselves to be put
Down in ink upon a page; the images open up
In her mind, the colours, the smells, the events
The pen now stops. The love letter is written
The writing done. She looks at the words
Then she seals it in an envelope and writes
His address. She pictures him reading it: in bed
In his room, sleepy, in a state of his usual undress
poem by Terry Collett
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The Silence Between
the silence between
words being written and read
seduces the mind to think
thoughts of creation anticipate
the blank canvas of the mind
which mirrors the open soul
calling out to listen
to the sound of pen upon paper
a mind at work
is a beautiful thing
and in writing seductive
words flow into sentence
a verse crafts itself
to be seen, felt
all in the aftermath
of the silence between
words being written
words being read
poem by Matthew Holloway
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My Words
the art of expression
is what my words are penned down upon
the will of wisdom
and the essence of freedom
to bounce like a king kong
on the ping pong
glad or sad, is from within each or any
stanza of my words
from the top of my head
to the deep end of the membrane under my melanin skin
to the sensory nerves of my brain
coiled upon an ancient pane
my words,
that which mirrors my sense of thought and feeling,
that with an ancestor
that which the blood of my people
was shed for; just so simple
but my words are royal
because ‘am loyal
like an induna
and vocal
to usher-in a focal
point of the meaning of my words.
my needs
and deeds
have a lord
on board
to code my words
and shield my soul from the imp’s sword.
my words are so very simple
to understand
and overstand
‘t was my words
that kept the birds
away from the heads
of my corn
for i was born
and sworn
to live a life upon
my words are so very easy to grasp
the fewer that discern
the nobler i become
I need not to wonder
and ponder
over yonder
for such is unknown to you
and therefore you have no knowledge of me
nor are you, about my words
yes! my words is what i like
to write
for i write
what i like
to strike
a balance between
the psyche
and the mic
such is my words,
the art of penning down what is from
the mind
and rewind
to remind
my words to decide
my words
such is my words,
the art of expression
against deception
but inception
and intersection
of my words
i now tell you that
my words are the words from the art
that which i chat
to match what my heart
tells me; roger that
the art of expressing the knack of expression; my words!
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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A Blank Page Blues
I know we have all done it,
sat in front of a pristine white sheet of paper
and got ready to write something down,
and then we are confronted
with the blank page blues.
The words of inspiration
then scurry and hide away.
You are left with pen in hand,
scratching your head
wondering what to say.
There is no cure for this syndrome;
writers get it all the time.
Some call it a writer’s block,
when nothing comes into your head.
You sit in front of a blank page.
You know what you want to write,
then someone disturbs you
and the words disappear out of sight.
How many times have we had that?
We sit down to write our masterpiece
and the telephone rings,
or someone shouts your dinner is getting cold.
You feel like screaming,
but you take it on the chin.
You lay down your pen,
answer the phone or have your dinner,
and when you come back,
the blank page confronts you.
Still you cannot write anything on it.
You stare at it for hours,
until finally you get tired
and journey off to bed.
Hoping and hoping tomorrow
a little peace, it will bring
and your words on that blank page
will really begin to sing.
10 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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Painting dreams...
Gazing at an empty page,
Thoughts and emotions run wild.
A portrait of words come to life,
Like dreams of emotions dancing.
Images of us live on in written words,
Stirring my mind and emotions.
A world of dreams built within the mind,
Forever floating upon the emotions of fantasy...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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