En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Page Stays White

I so want to write, but try as I might,
the words don’t come, this mind’s an empty drum.

Cells remain shut tight, ideas just won’t bite.

Brain’s full of bunkum, notions are struck dumb.

It’s an terrible plight, because the more you fight,
the less you succumb.
Not a single crumb will see the light.
I’m not sure why, quite!

But I’m feeling glum, I’m hitting a problem.

Can’t my wits be bright. My thoughts should unite
in my futile cranium, and that is saying some.

I so want to write, but the page stays white.

New poems ought to blossom, in a state of equilibrium.
But try as I might, somehow, my words seem to have taken flight.

poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Vow 2 (Right Words)

I've always been able to
now I don't even know what to do
it's never been a problem before
I've always been able to write about it
talk about it, now that it hit me
I'm somewhat speechless
I put pad to pen, nothing
an empty space on a white page
shouldn't this just write itself?
not a word or a single letter
I know it hit me, I feel it
it hurts yet I like it,
I smile at the sight of it
I've spent days and still on a blank page
it's stupid to say, but I give up
a pen is in rage to silence
to express this, these feelings
no words could describe
nor will I try
the only thing I can say for certain
that it is real, I Love you
this I vow.

poem by Kelvin Owusu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Poet's Page

All the words that fill a poet's page
can never convey love's feeling.
For all we know and think about love
is only what we're feeling.

The page itself is a bit of relief
as the words spill upon it.
But as the poet spells out the emotion
it seems as if they omit
the deepest and sweetest part of love
that words can never convey.
For the innermost ardor that's everlasting
is too hard for the pen to say.

But say it they must or die inside
and little by little sicken.
And write it they must or never be
able to feel their heart quicken.

And what words can come
that can live through the pain
of unfulfilled love that does remain.
The pen is just an extension
of the brain that's overworked tonite.
Oh that it had the power to bring
to me sweet delight
instead of another lonely,
lonely and empty night.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Scribbler's Stymie

Pen and paper in sight
I've got no poem to write

Staying up all night
I've got no poem to write

Although my mind is bright
I've got no poem to write

It's windy out tonight, should I go fly a kite?
I've got no poem to write

My ceiling, it is white
I've got no poem to write

It's 4: 59! Five, but not quite
I've got no poem to write

In your arms I'd feel so light
I've got no poem to write

I've had no sleep tonight
I've got no poem to write

Will you just hold me tight?
I've got no poem to write

Outside it's almost light
I've got no poem to write

It's late, off goes my light
I've got no poem to write

poem by Julia Grace
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Little Thought

Don't you hate it when nothing comes to mind
Can't even write one single line.
So many thoughts all entertwine
Can't even write one single line
Look at this page so white and fine
Can't even write one single line
Just had to think and take my time

(11.30.12)

poem by Earl Spencer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Why I Write?

I write poems for myself and I write for the readers
I write for the masses and I write for the leaders
I write to imprint my thoughts in people's mind
I write to make the bad guys helpful and kind
I write to light up our path to Great God
I write for everyone home and abroad
I write to preserve values new and old
I write to make my ink precious like gold
I write for peace and I write for progress
I write to make the world a better place
All major issues I want to address
I write to see smile on God's face

poem by Asif Andalib
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Nothing

Nothing has entered my mind today,
nothing to write about.
When this happens I cringe in fear
that the words have all died out.
Surely, there must be something to say
that's just a thought away.
I'll sit patiently with pen in hand
and try to convey
how I feel when nothing comes to me.
My spirits get so low,
that all around me I feel cold
as the page stays white like snow.

Just one thought is all I need.
That's not too much to ask.
One little thought to contemplate
that I can take to task.
Aha! I've got one on my mind.
I'm no longer in doubt.
I shall write about nothing.
For there's nothing to write about.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Need to Write

I need to write a poem, but how shall I do it,

First of all shall I write standing up, or just sit;

Until I get comfortable, I won't be able to start,

All the words will be muddled up, and then it'll fall. Apart.

Now! I got it right, I will choose the title to write about,

No good getting frustrated, or even sit or pout;

Just need to relax, and then the words will come easy,

Cause if I try to hard, Then my stomach will feel queasy.

I know what sort of holiday would people like,

And as I start the poem, the hall clock did strike;

Oh! It is now is what I can do, write about the time passing,

And so I have the heading, the thoughts on paper lasting.

It's got colour, size, And description, and the taste of art,

It's come from my mind, emotions, and also from the heart;

It has vision, and thoughts about where I want to go,

Yes! I think it'll get some to agree, to me they'll show.

So if you have a problem to write a poem or story,

Just read this poem, as a help, it's a help from me;

Don't force the idea, or rush it through at all,

Just go have a cuppa, read an article or a friend call.

Eventually it'll come, the words will flow along,

You might even end up, turning it into a song;

Writing poems will be rewarding, just give a go,

And you might enjoy it, they may end up in a show.

poem by Margaret Haig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Poem Explodes In This Poets Mind

flying flocks travel in flight,
another faulkner puts down
his shovel, and writes, writes
and writes.
spare me the out cry,
spare me the empty familiar,
spare me the muddled spirits,
and write your own words
with your own blood.
flying flocks travel in flight,
sextan turns up with her friend
plath, and they both write, write,
and write with their own blood.
spare me the out cry,
spare me the empty familiar,
spare me these muddled spirits,
and write with your own blood.
Flying flocks travel in flight, and
a poem explodes in this poets mind,
and i write, and write, and write,
and on this white paper, my blood.

poem by David Gerardino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Liberty Sought For All

Words keep filling my brain.
I rarely write them down.
Because as soon as I empty my head.
Words start filling my brain again.

I can never empty my head.
For there remains too much unsaid.
Poignant thoughts, enlightened ideas, ideals.
Waiting for a poet to bring them to heal.

Words. Words. Words. Words. Words.
Whirling Whirling Whirling Whirling Words.
Waiting for a chosen moment, of precise creativity.
Waiting for a special moment, of ordained existence.

Waiting to transform
a corrupt materialistic world.
Waiting to put compassion
back into heartless hearts.

Waiting to restore love
vitality freedom and nobility.
Waiting to herald a new age
of heaven sent realized liberty.

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

We Live Poems We Cannot Write

WE LIVE POEMS WE CANNOT WRITE

We live poems we cannot write-
Words of beauty that sometimes come suddenly
And disappear before we think to transcribe them-
Indescribable perceptions that move rapidly within us
And are gone before we can even be fully conscious of them-

We live poems we cannot write
Worlds of feeling there are no words for-

Our lives are pervaded by unwritten poetry
And our strongest Will and most determined Memory
cannot make pages of it all.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

All I Can Do Is Write Poems

ALL I CAN DO IS WRITE POEMS

All I can do is write poems
I have nothing else to say-
Only what Poetry alone can give
The expression of the soul
The deepest feeling we have
Whatever is in us and hurts the most
And needs most to be said.
All I can do in pain is write poems
But when the gladness comes?
When the happiness returns?
I will try too to to find words
For what is unsayable.

poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Missing Finger

You left us with ten fingers and,
Came back with nine fingers;
What really went wrong?
Fifteen years away from home,
We are yet to know what really went wrong;
Fifteen years away to make some money,
What really went wrong with your missing finger?
You made enough money and thought that,
You were richer than the President;
Today, you've returned home poorer than before!

There is time for everything,
A time to gain and a time to lose;
What really went wrong?
From a flight to your plight,
Who will help you now?
Fifteen years awayto make some money,
But today you can't even eat well at home;
From a flight to your plight,
Today you can't even sleep well at home;
Fifteen years away to make some money,
The very colours of the rainbow with a view;
You left us with ten fingers and,
Came back home with nine fingers;
What really went wrong?

From a flight to your plight,
Fifteen years away to make some money;
From the land of red, gold and green! !
From a flight to a plight,
It's all part of a lesson;
You are now at home at last.

The President was at the stadium but,
Where were you?
It is better to be humble than to boast.
Flight, sight, might, bright, tight, light;
You're poorer than fifteen years ago!
Bite, kite, height, fight, eight, plight;
You're poorer than fifteen years ago!
Quiet, rite, white, night, site, write;
You're poorer than fifteen years ago!
Today, the President is better off than you.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Another Blank Moment

Another struggle with a write,
Another battle, another fight.
Think Adam, think some more,
At least I made it to line four.

I hate it when my mind is numb,
This heartbreak has me full of glum.
The inspiration today is low,
The words are coming rather slow.

But here I am with my pen,
Trying to write once again.
Tomorrow is another day,
Maybe it won't be so gray.

This might be all I got,
But let me give it one more shot.
I'll come up with one more line,
And hope this poem turns out fine.

poem by Adam McKim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Take Back the Virgin Page

Written on Returning a Blank Book

Take back the virgin page,
White and unwritten still;
Some hand, more calm and sage,
The leaf must fill.
Thoughts come, as pure as light
Pure as even you require;
But, oh! each word I write
Love turns to fire.

Yet let me keep the book:
Oft shall my heart renew,
When on its leaves I look,
Dear thoughts of you.
Like you, 'tis fair and bright;
Like you, too bright and fair
To let wild passion write
One wrong wish there.

Haply, when from those eyes
Far, far away I roam,
Should calmer thoughts arise
Towards you and home;
Fancy may trace some line,
Worthy those eyes to meet,
Thoughts that not burn, but shine,
Pure, calm, and sweet.

And as, o'er ocean far,
Seamen their records keep,
Led by some hidden star
Through the cold deep;
So may the words I write
Tell through what storms I stray --
You still the unseen light,
Guiding my way.

poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

1. One

I am trying to find my poetic rhythm.
Pen my flow of thoughts.
Words running through my mind,
Ideas running through my mind.
Incoherent, Scattered and disjointed

I am trying to make words and ideas one
Create a world of words, in this world of chaos
Words running from one end
Ideas running from one end
On a path of collision

Ideas and words unite, one
One, the beginning
One, the universal beginning
One, the number of the gods
One, my first poem

poem by Anand Dixit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!