Tenacity Is The Father Of Invention!
The empty page stared back at me devoid of expectation!
It held no hope, no ecstasy, no present inspiration!
Like snow it froze my very soul as if love never lived...
As if the Lord had no control to offer me this gift!
The gift of thoughts and wondrous words can conquer every doubt!
That’s why, as men, we fly like birds in planes that dart about!
It’s why we dive, like whales below, in silver submarines!
It’s why we strive to learn and know and why we make machines!
It’s why we walked upon the moon and then used all our wisdom
To go, by probes, past this balloon to cross our solar system!
Mankind, inspired, will not cease from universal quest!
He spurns contentment, even peace, for he must do his best!
So, empty page, I spurn your spite! No writer’s block have I!
Behold this poem that I write inspired by your sigh!
poem by Denis Martindale
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Related quotes
Inspiration..
Inspiration comes and goes.
I write it down or I’ll forget while searching for a pen.
Inspiration comes and goes.
I get is from dreams or experiences.
Inspiration comes and goes.
But tell me, what inspires you.
I’m inspired by beauty, love and lust.
Giving me words and thought I dare to trust.
It’s inspiration that separates me from the rest.
‘Cause when inspiration comes words fall into place.
And things are beginning to make sense.
Sometimes I’m inspired by sorrow.
When I’m waiting in my bed for tomorrow.
And words start to become sentences.
I will start to write just to understand.
And to make me feel better so I can go to bed again.
Sometimes I write because of a pain that runs so deep.
I write cryptic lyrics about the secrets I keep.
I express them in other words so no one will understand.
But they feel not knowing what I’m trying to tell.
It’s a just way to clear my conscience.
Sometimes I write how the world could be.
Or I write about the girl of my fantasy.
Then I’m inspired by a fragment of my imagination.
And now I told a few ways where I get my inspiration.
So now tell me what inspires you.
poem by Rick Adriolo
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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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The Writer and the Blood Inked Quil
The Writer and the Blood Inked Quill
By: Adam M. Snow
The candle flickered by a passing gentle breeze;
My quill dries up leaving not I at ease.
My words upon page now left to hang.
A reader's disappointment, now a writer's pang.
Misery held me as time stood still,
My heart has fallen because my mind is ill.
I stare at blank page as all words elude me,
I can't help to wonder, 'How could this be? '
Torment follows as night falls victim to dread;
My ink once black now turns blood red.
I wrote my soul upon each page,
As time ticks by with every age.
The word itself scream an agony scream;
I, the writer without a dream.
But what bedevils myself to write,
Elude me once more with the fall of night.
My nightly whimper comes with a toll,
My life upon the page, now bearing my soul.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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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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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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Writer's Block
I am lost without inspiration;
I cannot think my thoughts are empty.
A sudden expectation
of words I cannot see.
I try that I must but I cannot write;
the ink in my hand, an outspoken sanity.
No inspiration, not of the night;
I am lost to insanity.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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The Poem Came Late At Night
The poem came late at night
Long after the world had gone to sleep
It had a quiet in it and a peace and a happiness
And it felt alone and easy
Blank and white as an empty page or a fresh fallen snow-
It had in it magic and mystery
And a rare kind of beauty
Words speaking to themselves easily and readily-
It came just so so soft and so so quietly
And with such beauty and such kindness-
Surely it was a gift
This poem of the night
And surely it told me
How I should forever love life more.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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What If
Such a tiny word, that word if, helps to ignore the present gift,
God’s gift to us of life today, when we put the past in the way,
Today’s a gift to all of us, from the Author of life Christ Jesus,
Yesterday’s past is already gone, and He’d like us to carry on.
What if, only moves us to cast, present thoughts into the past,
Tainting concerns now at hand, with those we can’t understand,
It may even cause us to resent, past issues, in view of present,
What God wants left behind, to give us present peace of mind.
We cannot physically, go back, to alter what we presently lack,
For with the past said and done, we have a present race to run.
Old issues we should not spurn, using all them instead to learn,
As we go forward in this life, following the lead of Jesus Christ.
Allow His Spirit only to retrace, those past issues by His Grace,
As Christ helps you not to repeat, what was in your past defeat.
Christ, has a plan for all of us, and in Him we must simply trust,
And God’s plan for you and me, is not more defeat, but victory.
Believers, God will not forsake, regardless of any past mistake,
God wants us to move ahead, not be filled with regret or dread,
As God takes us by the hand, past issues we can’t understand,
Avoiding that small word if, to focus on Christ our greatest gift.
(Copyright ©07/2009)
The Empty Box
This I will not put into my normal rhyme and verse, for it is a story of
Faith and hope.
The empty box
I felt empty inside, as the greatest gift had been taken away.
Like an empty Christmas box with all the ribbons and bows
On the outside showing all its beauties, but no one
Knew that the box was empty inside.
What happened? Who took out that gift?
Was it supposed to be temporary
For it was something that I truly missed.
What is the purpose of a beautiful decorated box
If there is nothing inside, to show the depth
and meaning of its wrappings.
Had I taken out the gift? Or misplaced or given it away?
I did not know!
An empty box is like a universe without its stars
Or sun or moon. Void and dark.
I felt like a floating object in space with no
Beginning and no end.
I still had my mind active and working.
I decided to back track to the times before this
And what could have happened.
I had an untimely death of a family member
Then I was laid off from work.
I didn’t have enough money to make
My car or mortgage payments, and to top it off
I wound up with a severe cold.
That was when I turned angrily and blamed god
For all my misfortunes.
But by doing this - I became empty inside
With no emotions, I then realized that this
Is one of many misfortunes to come to test my faith.
I knelt down on my knees and prayed for forgiveness
For allowing myself to weaken.
I then recalled the poem - “ footprints in the sand”
And I felt my heart start to fill up again.
For I knew that in my weakest hours
God would carry me.
Now! That Christmas gift was replenished
And filled the emptiness with the most beautiful gift
This world could ever know.
FAITH, HOPE, AND LOVE.
I knew things would work out for me
If I just gave god my problems to take care of.
So if you see an empty gift box!
It is not really empty, for it contains
GODS LOVE FOR ALL HIS CHILDREN.
poem by Louis Rams
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Sans Inspiration
Tonight I’m inspired
By my lack of inspiration
I’m inspired to write
And defy this Mental constipation
Tonight I’ll write…
Simply out of spite
entirely, and completely
Without inspiration
poem by David Whalen
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Writer's Block!
Yes, these two words came into mind...
Wordpad opened again,
New Rich True Format Document,
Followed by Arial ten...
No text displayed as I perused,
The cursor blinking still...
In readiness for brand new words
My thoughts were yet to spill...
I typed the title, first thing done,
Two line gaps then the verse...
With not a word to lead the way,
It couldn't get much worse...
But then I thought, I'll add my name
And copyright as well,
Then type the date, as if to claim
There's nothing left to tell...
The poem stands, no words at all,
To summarise the theme,
As if the empty heart and mind
Had nothing there to dream...
But then I thought, that's such a waste!
I'll let the reader know,
That even nothing has its place
Before the words can flow...
And so, from nothing came these rhymes,
These thoughts upon a page,
Or PC screen each time I type
To reach another stage...
Who knows? The poem I write next
Could be a great success,
That may grant tremendous insight,
Some cherished happiness...
So Writer's Block, I've beaten you!
I've conquered every doubt!
God gave me something that's brand new
And now I've typed it out!
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Let No Colours Run
A poem for Skylar Kendall
young fresh poet radiant
light of future potential
shines through fine words
of your vision expanding
do not be afraid to rework
your vision in a moment
of sudden inspired inspiration
do not force rush your art
observe first two painted stanzas
are applied exceptionally strong
this attests your gift brush strokes
unique insight your own mind song
be patient mix relax words thoughts
will come control let no colours run
your gift is etched in eye imagery lines
real sketch your future potential radiant
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Burgeoning Love
To this I was unprepared
Yet I accept it as a truth
My heart has been inspired
And caught by your beauty
To this end I have fallen
You are my muse my desire
How fair and gentle you stand
Growing in my thoughts daily
Is this love or infatuation
When words of romance speak
To tell me of how we would kiss
How we would lay together
Held in each others arms
And those words we would speak
How meaningful they sound
You are beautiful and more besides
You have been woven to my life
I’d gift you my heart and soul
If you gift me your hand to hold
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Lines For An Album
I would not trace the hackneyed phrase
Of shallow words and empty praise,
And prate of 'peace' till one might think
My foolish pen was drunk with ink.
Nor will I here the wish express
Of 'lasting love and happiness,'
And 'cloudless skies'--for after all
'Into each life some rain must fall.'
--No. Keep the empty page below,
In my remembrance, white as snow--
Nor sigh to know the secret prayer
My spirit hand has written there.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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There Was A Poem I Waited To Be Inspired By
THERE WAS A POEM I WAITED TO BE INSPIRED BY
There was a poem I waited to be inspired by -
I heard it once and then again and again
And each time it reminded me
That elsewhere there were others who knew how to believe in life-
And so I told myself
I would try to write down one day
A poem of my own
Which would give others hope also.
Now writing this I think of myself as a kind of fiction-
But what great poems of hope and faith there have been
And what great voices mankind has known-
It almost makes one believe
That such a voice can come again
Even if it is not necessarily my own-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Wisdom from a Teenage Girl
A young girl
On an ancient page of history
Becomes pregnant with truth
And the light of compassion;
She accepts destiny with love,
Suffering with forbearance,
Willingness to embrace shame
To offer the universe
The gift of redemption.
Sacred Son-Light,
May we learn wisdom
From a teenage girl
And make service for others
The motivation of our hearts,
The love of the Child
Our guiding light in darkness,
May we make a positive yes response
To the spiritual calling of kindness
And make our own gift of love
In the simple neighborhoods
In which we live.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Once Again I Write...
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
I write to save my sanity.
I write to ease my heart.
I write to cleanse my soul.
I write to feel alive.
I write to keep my mind strong and my thoughts clear.
I write my words of sorrow, despair, pain, and love, as well as words of wisdom.
I write so that one day someone will truly know me.
This paper, this pen is once again my inspiration.
It is the inspiration to what I see.
It is the inspiration to what I hear.
It is the inspiration to what I feel.
It is the inspiration to the art I create.
It is the inspiration to what I draw.
It is the inspiration to the love for my daughter.
It is the inspiration to the love for my husband.
This pen, this paper is once again my savior.
Once again I write to say thank you my timeless friends.
Thank you for saving me time and time again.
poem by Sara Jo Andrews
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Solar System
What do the planets mean? and have you ever seen
Sunrise in the morn? it shined when you were born.
Saturn has rings all around it
I searched the sky and I found it
Solar system
Brings us wisdom
Then theres the milky way, thats where the angels play
Youve seen the lovers moon, looks good in the month of june
Neptune is God of the sea-ea-ea
Pluto is too far to see-ee-ee
Solar system
Brings us wisdom
The constellations are stars that form animals
Leo and capricorn, too
Star bright, star light
Make this wish come true tonight
If mars had life on it I might find my wife on it
Venus the goddess of love can thank all the stars above
Mercurys close to the sun
Youll see it when day is done
Solar system
Brings us wisdom
Solar system
Brings us wisdom
Solar
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poems Went Away
THE POEMS WENT AWAY
The poems went away.
Nothing inside.
An empty will for poetry
Forcing words on the page,
Words without music
Without resonance
Without great implication
Meaning.
Write, write, write
Lest you die.
And the words themselves
A kind of desperate uphill catching of breath
On the page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Constant Time
Time past and the future give way to this present picture,
But can somebody tell me how to recognize that gate that leads to the bed of roses,
We speak about the future like the past is a grain of sand on the shore,
Washed away by the ocean tide,
Giving way to new grains to make a portrait of the present,
These past memories stay deep in our heart like the depths of the ocean,
Though it gets washed back to shore ones in a blue moon,
Reminding us that our past is a standard measurement of our strength,
Time moves so fast making the past to fade away,
this makes us seem so secured about the present,
Forgetting the fact that our present becomes our past that was once a present from nature as a new day,
Some take the future to be a dream and a wish,
But I take my future to be what I see when I stand from the bottom of the mountain to look at the top,
And my past to be the depth of the ocean that can always be washed ashore …
The only thing I can control is my present,
Yes cos my mind controls my hands to give you a flash of what goes on in my head
Like this words i write to you was once my future and will become my past, making my future my past and my past my future..So ironical isn’t it?
Standing here I sure know 1 thing,
I will reach the top by that foot path,
Yes of course it’s not to mean that I wouldn’t fall,
But I have to break myself off my present past and walk with grace to stand where I belong,
There where I am the king of my destiny,
The past is just going to be a page of memories,
And my future will become my present making time constant in my head,
Because I stand on my past which was once my present and my present which was once my future, making time equal and constant
As I flip thru this page of life,
By: ade
poem by Adeniran Oluokun
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