Can You Hear Me?
Inspired by inspiration
A pen bleeds emotions ink
Saturating page in prose
As a parched palate, in need, have drink
Fluent, fluid, a liquid thought
Invisible until written free
Exposing itself in lettered form
Each line molding, what's soon to be?
Words oozing with vivid imagery
Capturing reader within its clasp
Eyes hearing, ears capturing site
A shared experience within words grasp
Inspired by Inspiration
A pen bleeds emotions ink
Drizzling, doodling, dripping
Ideas, can you hear me think?
poem by Wendy Bureau
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Her love is my inspiration
Her love is my inspiration
Love is the inspiration for my heart to sing a tune,
love is the inspiration for my ear to hear,
love is the inspiration for my soul to warm,
love is the inspiration for my mouth to smile,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to glisten.
Love is the inspiration to draw my soul near another
love is the inspiration for my mouth to utter sweet words,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to gaze upon her,
love is the inspiration for my heart to speak out.
Love is the inspiration for need, love is the inspiration for my mouth to touch hers,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to close,
love is the inspiration for my heart to race,
love is the inspiration for my tears to burn.
Love is the inspiration for longing,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to see only her,
love is the inspiration for my heart to cry out,
love is the inspiration for my ear to hear her whispers,
love is the inspiration for my soul to join hers forever.
Love is the inspiration for forever,
love is the inspiration for my heart to be whole,
love is the inspiration for my ear to always hear those words,
love is the inspiration for my soul to have hers,
love is the inpiration for my mouth to speak the truth.
Love is the inspiration for my soul to seek life
love is the inspirationfor my ear to hear her words,
love is the inspiration for my soul to reach for her,
love is the inspiration for my mouth to speak her truths,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to always look upon her first,
For she is the inspiration for my Love.
Nathaniel Cole Buddington
poem by Nathan Buddington
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bleeds Through
My 'Bleeds Through' poems are of emotions that enter or escape as you read
If you feel a call to action, sadness, happiness, relative tingling
Or anything
Then something in those words bleed through into you
How the emotions contribute is the bleeding out
Bleeding is not of only blood
It is strictly the slow oozing of feeling
Until it eventually clots and stops
Read these with a open mind and heart
Let the words soak in and leave as they came
Slowly
March 14,2012
poem by Ryan Collins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Through the artists eyes
The world reflected
In the authors eyes
Shall be as beautiful or tragic
As the emotions interpreted
In the verse of the inspired
Flowing almost timeless
A world beyond what’s real
A fantasy often shared
The dream interpreted
By the words which flow
A tale may be woven
Or a thought put into place
By the words when spoken
Through the artists eyes
How the world is seen
Can be more beautiful
Or more heartbreaking
When written
Through the artists eyes
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A wealth of sources (inspiration is)
Inspiration…
Elusive creature…yet
Only when pursued
Too arduously
Everywhere…
Tis All about us
Within our grasp
Continuously
In faces
So familiar
In places
So mundane
Inspiration…is
Daily conversation
Exposition of emotions
Inspiration…both pleasure and pain
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lunch With a Poet
I had lunch with a poet, just the other day.
A poet who has written fine and lofty verse,
Conveying his experiences, emotions and his ideas, in
Vivid, imaginative ways, condensed in simple language,
Choosing words for sound and power,
Rather than impressing readers with poetic adulterations.
Almost apologetically, he said he uses 'nickel words'
To write his inner thoughts. It was as if he were at fault,
As though he thought those simple sounds
Had lessened the intent of his poetic worth.
I emphasized how wrong he was, and tried
To make clear, a poet writes in sympathy with his reader,
Overleaping the barriers of understanding by the simplicity
Of his language, and of his words.
To write with words of misty meaning does not make
A mystic.
To write with vulgar words does not lift up the poem
On wings of song, it only floats as high as the poet's
Commonality who, mistaking flatulence for inspiration, becomes
Enmeshed in a literary byproduct of the foulest of excretion and Smells.
My friend failed to intellectually understand,
But spiritually Accepts, as his writings reveal,
That clarity of thought and mind is the poet's
Highest point of the poet's integrity.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Am Inspired, Are You?
inspiration is not desired
to be inspired
it is discovered
and authored
it is rewarded
and guarded
by the power to live
the hour to give
an inspired
soul a sense to express,
so, i am inspired
now,
are you?
if so,
spread your wings
and fly
within you,
reach out your hands
and touch the sky
(and beyond)
stay motivated
and inspired...
if not, ask why not yourself?
why not you inspired from yours' sense?
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fading ink
Fading ink
~
the words which flowed
from pen to page
in a steady stream
have trickled silently
into a vacant space
silent prose sits impatiently
awaiting the spark
to ignite inspiration
to fire up the pen
and resume its flow
of words from pen to paper
but a nothingness holds
space for rent across the page
a canvas of thought
where words once ran
the old ink fades
in the light of a new day
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love is the inspiration
Love is the inspiration for the heart to sing a tune,
For the ear to hear,
For the soul to warm,
For the mouth to smile,
For the eyes to glisten.
Love is the inspiration for want,
For the soul to draw near another,
For the mouth to utter sweet words,
For the eyes to gaze upon,
For the heart to speak out.
Love is the inspiration for need,
For the mouth to touch,
For the eyes to close,
For the heart to race,
For the ear to burn.
Love is the inspiration for longing,
For the eyes to see only the one,
For the heart to cry out,
For the ear to hear whispers,
For the soul to join another forever.
Love is the inspiration for forever,
For the heart to be whole,
For the ear to always hear those words,
For the soul to have another,
For the mouth to speak the truth.
Love is the inspiration for the heart to seek God,
For the ear to hear his word,
For the soul to reach for him,
For the mouth to speak his truth,
For the eyes to always look upon him first,
For God is the inspiration for Love.
poem by Rabecca Welch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
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!
Something Visual
Something visual and so vivid
Are still hard to write
One shot in film
Would have been easy
To picture curves
And tangential lines
That even criss-cross
Using words
Is a big challenge,
Like
Capturing a crocodile
On a fish net, it would even
Be harder using words
To capture illusive motions
Of white milk spilt on
Monochromatic tiles,
Or
The leaping of a fish
On the pond trying to
Eat a moth or a dragonfly
Hovering on a blade of
Grass and what about
Air,
Invisible getting
Inside my lungs, that
Feeling of life moving
Inside me,
And
What about
Blood running in the veins
To remove numbness of
My fingers,
All
These
Are challenges in words
In what to write,
To a jumping fish
Capturing, swallowing
A blue dragonfly,
Or
The air rushing
To my lungs,
Or
To the
Blood rushing to my numb
Fingers,
All these give a feeling
Of relief,
All
These somehow
Return life, and it makes
Us all feel good…
Something visual in words
Motions captured and colors
Brushed in word, in words
Something visual
And life-giving
To be caged in words,
Such will be your big challenge.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Back to the Atomic State...
he is looking for an opening
his eyes are angry
but his words are restrained
and will not
let the mouth speak about
emotions
in his place emotions are
rebels
and the owner of everything
will not like it
there are spies and soldiers
of decent speech
and modest actions
and anyone caught shall be
shot to death
or beaten till his flesh
bleeds no more
and so he is looking for an exit
an opening
but there is only nowhere
there is only somewhere
and time seems to be like a road
without a station
and emotions seem to just a random
of planets
evading a collision
that could have made him happy
when the whole universe
bangs against
each other
and thus end everything
everything
so he could become another atom again
beginning anew
on a virginal spin
in a nucleus world
where he can be truly himself again
he is so small
he is so negligible
and let it be again
that no one notices him
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Words Woven - Parody Mary BEULEY - Words Woven
Words woven into speech
soon reach
intact thread spirit of each act,
knit warp and weft of wit wish fact,
dreams' tapestry may teach.
Words express essentials,
transmit, unwind
from mind to mind,
address ideas which, blind,
would grope for means to equate
sensations refined,
coarse, sophisticate.
Thus they incarnate
emotion's multi coloured coat, pattern twist
around ideas which form,
unform,
inform or disinform,
or take by storm
precisely or by gist
the geist soul kissed.
Words woven into speech
pen hand,
when scanned
from thoughts’ life blood leach
emotions, sense, dressed to suit
points phallic and points mute,
ideo-grand!
© Jonathan Robin Parody Mary BEULEY 1837_1916 written 12 December 1995 – Words Woven revised 31 July 2008 notably first verse below
Words woven into speech
soon reach
to knit the spirit of each act,
the warp and weft of every fact,
through dreams to teach.
______________
Words Woven
Words woven into rhyme
In time
Become a tapestry of thought
A canvas of experience in which
Our dreams are wrought.
Words are the evidence of what goes on
communicate
Within the mind.
They clothe the invisible
With robes of speech,
Sophisticated as silk,
Homespun as hessian,
And in between
The many-patterned, many-textured range,
Familiar and strange,
Of words -
Woven and dyed and spun
For Fun
Or seriously aware
Of what is there.
Words woven into rhyme
Or prose
Transpose
Giving the tiny embryo of thought
A dress to wear, most delicately wrought,
And caught for ever in a form know
And understand.
Mary BEULEY 1837_1916
© Jonathan Robin Parody Mary BEULEY written 12 December 1995
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Author's Inspiration
My fingers do not type the words on the page; they do not draw delusions on a thin piece of white lined paper. They are not meant for the works of art to be used and unworthy for. My fingers are worthy enough to paint pictures inside your cognizance, more than painting a paintless sheet that means nothing to me. My fingers work as if every picture I paint in my mind, inspires them to write the unwritten page, to make it a master piece. But not every inspiration inside my mind, will take merely a second to create. It takes time, patience, and art to smear the writings onto a page. Author inspiration is from what comes from the heart; deep and dark, inspring and light - it's as if it was left inside its cage. No freedom, no light, no darkness, no being of a creature that the render of the paper, simply gave up on inspiring the little ones'. It's as if this mere creature was left within a white blank world. No colors to paint, no words to express. An author inspiration is formed when they see or hear other works of art, whether it's music to their ears, movies they wish to be in, life and feelings that they feel or positioned in, or other writings that they write something else about - but as an inspiration from them. An inspiration can be from anything from the outside world, from what happens inside one's life, to what creates such imagination within one's thoughts that coats the page with color and creativity. Anyone can be talented. Anyone can have an inspiration. You just have to feel and be it.
poem by Alicia Meyers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Paper Rose
Each time pen and line
brush the page
it is with you in mind;
all these years
you've been
reader to my writer-
you and I
giving life
to what starts as
mere blank pages-
and end as
our shared experience.
I can feel you;
hear you breathing
and lay
down each
night
renewed
for you have
read
between my lines
written and
I
received
your resonances
come back
to my ear-
these reciprocities
tracking
the journey
we each
together
have taken-
our lines entwining.
No greater bond
than the bond
of reader and that written;
no love more timeless
than that shared
in the missive
shaped
by two
interchanging
in this journey
through
life's space.
No gratitude greater
than mine.
Capture here then
to be clear
the
paper rose
this writing
is
because
its lines form
a rose
which will
last
down the years
forever read
forever written.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!