Writers Block
The worst thing any writer can experience
is the most dreaded writers block.
Sitting in front of a blank sheet of paper
waiting and waiting for the words to come.
It is the curse of all writers
whether they are good or bad.
The frustration of trying to unblock their mind.
We try it with reading others words or soothing music
hoping to stimulate the little grey cells into working.
However it is never as easy as it sounds
as a writers block can sometimes last for years,
I know that from experience as
I have been down that road before.
Then the inexplicable happens and you pick up a pen
and that blank page is not blank anymore,
it is filled with words galore.
The torture is over and a new start begins.
You give a big sigh of relief as your writing begins again,
but being always weary in case that block comes back again.
14 January 2011
poem by David Harris

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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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Writers Block
He was going to write a brilliant poem
probably the best one he'd ever done
but when he sat down at his desk
the inspiration just wouldn't come.
No matter how hard the poet tried
to get some ideas down onto the page
nothing worth writing about arrived
leaving him on the verge of rage.
Then an Eureka moment hit him
while listening to the ticking of the clock
he'd write a poem on the frustration
of that dreaded writers block.
He ended up writing five verses
about a poets worst nightmare
when your wanting to write a masterpiece
but end up pulling out your hair.
So the moral of this poem must be
that writers block isn't so bad after all
as you can use it as a poetry subject
instead of sitting there staring at the wall!
poem by Kevin Halls

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Writer's Drought
You've heard of a thing called writer's block and you've heard of writer's drought
But writers are never short of things on which they can write about
It's just at times their inspiration well does seem to run dry
And they cannot seem to pen a line though hard enough they try.
The writers drought it causes writers moments of self doubt
Till the words that seem locked in them eventually flow out
Through their pens to their notebooks their dry spells do not last
And on time lost out on penning words they seem to catch up fast.
Some writers in their writing drought cannot seem to feel inspired
To write even a single line they feel mentally tired
But when fresh inspiration comes to them much better stuff they do write
And feeling re-invigorated they sit and pen all night.
Most writers you will talk to of writers drought can tell
When there is no inspiration in their inspiration well
But when inspiration returns to them and their creative juices flow
They become much better writers and in self confidence grow.
poem by Francis Duggan

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I have a huge respect for writers and realise that this is not an area that I find easy. I doubt that I would have the patience in front of a blank sheet of paper to become a writer.
quote by Jenny Agutter

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Road Block
Yeah!, all right!
Oh, ain't no problem
Carry no heavy load
Lord, no!
Why can't i love you, baby ?
You try to block my road.
You try to block my road. hey!
Oh, better off to hand you
Everything i own, ha ha ha ha!
Strange to see you waiting for me,
You try to block my road, yeah yeah,
Try to block my road
Hey, hey, hey, hey.
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block daddy daddy daddy
Road block
Road block
Alright on the road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Yeah! road block
Road block, alright, alright, alright!
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Whoa road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Yeah!
Try to block my road, daddy daddy daddy
I said now every time i turn around
Why, try to block my road
Why did you try to hurt me try to block my road
I said all i ever wanted to do was try to block my road
N-now all i ever wanted to do was to love you try to block my road
Tell me, tell me, tell me try to block my road
Tell me, tell me, tell me now try to block my road
Waaah try to block my road
Waaah try to block my road
Try to block my road.
Ha ha!
Oh, ain't no problem
Carry no heavy load
Oh no, no!
Why can't i love you, baby ?
You try to block my road.
Hey hey, try to block my road,
Now now, try to block my road
Right, right, honey right now!
song performed by by Janis Joplin

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Writer's Block in Prison
WRITER'S BLOCK IN PRISON
22 September 2004
Writer's block is a terrible thing
It stops you dead when you need it least
They say that when the time is right
The words will flow like wine at night.
But here I sit gazing out
at the trees and the grass and the flowers about
and the little red doors of the prison cells
and my thoughts go round and nothing comes out.
Ok, to work, tutor wants words -
An essay no less - but hasn't he heard
that essays are good but not all of us can
write just like that - maybe he can!
Tutor I think wants an essay in prose
But I am finding I cannot do those.
He'll have to accept this epistle I know
'cos that's all I'm doing
and he better accept it
'cos I ain't doing no more
the writer's block is back
and that's that.
poem by Dafyd Smith

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The Truth can Hurt
The truth can hurt
Some writers write infrequently
and others write prolifically.
What matters is the quality
much more so than the quantity.
Good writers by their words display
their thoughts in a coherent way
Describing things they have observed
and garner praise that’s well deserved.
But some think anything will do
and they pay no attention to
the rules successful writers use
they will not learn: point blank refuse
to accept well meant critique.
They much prefer dishonest praise
from so called friends afraid
to speak the simple truth lest they dismay
their friend by speaking honestly.
So naturally they take offence
when other people criticise
that which seems perfect in their eyes.
True writers take this in their stride
they know their work is not perfect.
But what they know is they have tried
and that is all you can expect.
New writers lack experience
but everyone must start some where.
The wise ones do not take offence
when other people show they care
enough to offer some advice.
Because they can remember when
they too were just a new novice
to painting pictures with their pen.
27 feb 08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg

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Paper, Only for a Limited Time
Paper, blank and empty
A metaphor only meant for loneliness
White as new born snow
Lets add some words
To make a prophesized poem
Words, only meant for rhetorical use
Clouds that clear, only meant to hide the blue
The living, moving ocean that is our sky
Words, only meant for questioning
What are words but meaning
Clearing clouds, our living pulse bleeds through
Now this blank piece of paper
Has a shadow, and my shadow -combine
Lets make music together
Beautiful, wonderful, majestic music
Lets be music together-
And dance our hearts to something holy
Paper, blank and empty
But easily filled to create art
Art that can change the world
Turn it upside down, or nothing
Paper, blank and empty
But only for a limited time.
poem by Troy Clark

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Most Writers
Most writers 'twould seem have moments of self doubt
But they never go short of things to write about
And to become a top writer of one a big ask
And to succeed as a writer for many seems too daunting a task.
Most writers do not write for wealth or for fame
And despite lack of success they pen on just the same
For every one hundred thousand writers perhaps one writing millionaire
Amongst the ranks of the wealthy the writers are rare.
Few writers can hope for to scale success height
For the love of writing they only do write
Few writers get published and fewer know of success
But in their writings on paper their thoughts they express.
Most writers will never know wealth and renown
And they are not even well known in their own Hometown
They never will be known beyond their home shore
They write for the love of it and little more.
poem by Francis Duggan

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Four Main Types of Writers (personal opinion)
The Lonely Writer
Some writings tell me
This person is lonely
And is reaching out
For the touch of a friendly comment
These writers are sad, solitary,
Isolated, but good persons
And quite often very good writers
The needy juvenile writer
Some writings contain words
Or language meant to shock
And to offend.
These writers are lonely also
But in a different way.
These writers are simply saying
Like a little child
“hey! I exist! Someone better
Acknowledge me! ”
These writers can often write well
But usually don’t, can’t, or choose not to
The Spite Writer
This writer can be of either gender
But seems to be in a female majority
They’ve been spurned or rejected
Two-timed or lied to.
And they are going to vent their ire
In the most public way they can.
These writers can also be very good writers
But too often let their anger get in the way.
The Religious Writer
These writers show people passionate
And zealously devoted to singing the praises
Of the Lord and goodness and charity.
They’re probably austere, honest people
Who almost always write very well.
For the most part these writers seem
To want to spread the word and
At the same time tend to be rather singular
In the subject matter of their writings,
Rarely attempting other genres.
poem by David Whalen

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Blank
Blank pages, blank lines
Blank heart, blank mind
Blank feeling, blank soul
Blank high, blank low.
I dont know why
You just cant see
That all you've ever known
Is the blank side of me.
Blocked
Stuck again
The block is back
Stopping the flow of imagination
And ideas
“The writers block”
Solid and thick as lead
Heavy as a planet
Just landed and is up to its old tricks
My thoughts crash into it and can’t be set free
Why now, when it is crucial must you block me
Come back in an hour or two
You’ll be appreciated more then
These stories are good
The poems aren’t dead
Come on you must see them inside my head
You’re making my pen run out of ink
Having to cross out thoughts and feelings on this page
I guess I ll be stuck with the block until it leaves
Chuckling with glee
Knowing I couldn’t finish the work in time
That was supposed to be about me
Written: November 18,2010
poem by Ryan Collins

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No Inspiration
silence widows and other voice
as i fall victim to writers block
its been two weeks no inspiration
when will it stop
as i sit in the night trying to write
but none makes sense
so i start over and over again
reading all these other poems for advice
but when i start to write
it looks like plagerisim so i start back
but at the end of the day nothings change
just an empty paper left behind
and a trash can filled
poem by Robert Roberts

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Blank Sheet Of Paper
I'm just a blank sheet of paper
This fool's about to write you a letter
To tell you that he's sorry
For the way he did you wrong
To ask for forgiveness
For leaving you alone
He's been looking down at me seems like forever
he takes the top on and off his pen
It's like he can't decide
Just what he wants to say
If he'd just tell the truth
I'd be on my way
Chorus
But he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he doesn't want it to end
And now it's one hour later (four hours later)
I am still a blank sheet of paper
Sunlight is shining through the curtains
He's almost asleep pen in hand
There's a tear in his eye
That refuses to fall
If it would land on me
That would say it all
Repeat Chorus
And he just stares at me
And i just stare at him
He don't know where to start
To say he wants it back again
And now one broken heart later
I am still a Blank sheet of paper
song performed by by Tim McGraw

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Lost For Words
Wordless I sit
I’ve lost all rhyme and rhythm,
Words I can grasp slip thru
My fingers
to fall around my feet
In jumbled order,
I want to climb
The popular ladder
Blank sheets are all I can offer.
Will the words rise off the floor
Can any expealladotious word
knock on the door?
That’s left ajar for metaphors
That may sneak in.
Nature speaks in its
Own bounty full way,
All the clock can say
Is tick tock
To seal my mental block,
Wait I think its coming back
The end of my block, yes yes,
Hickory Dickery Dock!
poem by Ken e Hall

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A Requiem For A Poet
The ground laid waste beneath me
no flowering fruits lay there,
no fertility of imagination,
no quest to ride upon.
Gone are the flowing shrub of words
that coloured the winding path
upon which poets tread.
Left behind the words dissolve
and the metre melts away.
Maybe some day in the future
this pen will write again,
but until that day comes along,
this is a requiem for a poet.
and so long to all his friends.
19 February 2011
Author’s Note:
Before anyone thinks that I am giving up writing or I am in a writer’s block. This is just a poem as I am neither giving up or in a writer’s block..
DVH
poem by David Harris

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The Poetry Has Gone Out Of Me
The Poetry has gone out of me
I am as blank as prose-
There is no force of feeling in me
Flat as a lox my words on the page-
I am the middle of the Midwest
Going on and on on the surface only-
I have no inside-
No wind shakes me-
Words are words and only words,
Detached from all emotion-
How flat stale not even weary and unprofitable can a blank confessional poem be?
The feeling of being without feeling
No feeling at all.
A lox inside and a lox on the page.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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The unwritten is also there
a blank paper
limitless as space
to fill the knowledge
here and beyond
and words of God
here, the learned plot
the stars, moon and universe
day and night
to the untutored
the blank paper might
as well be carrying space
limitless, enthralling
yet not fathomable
reachable
the blank page
catches the
essence of the mind
the written is there
the unwritten also there
if you could read
between the lines
if you could sense
the universal mind
the waves at sea
afford only a little view
of the power of the wind
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo

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Blank Page
Blank page leave me be!
Blank page please stop taunting me,
reminding me of what I have failed to do.
Oh how I long to fill you,
to take up your very last line
with creative, riveting lyrics of mine.
Blank page stop harassing me!
I wish to show you my thoughts,
desires, emotions and all.
How difficult it is to answer your call.
Blank page how sweetly you whisper
tempting my pen to caress your paper.
I immaturely expect the verses to flow
then I realize that my thoughts are much too slow.
Blank page so often you defeat me
teasing and challenging until hours later
all that is left is the tiny dot
where my pen merely touched your paper.
poem by Shaqueena Celestin

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