Five Minute Improv
A challenge I set myself, With five minutes on poem’s shelf.
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A challenge I set myself, With five minutes on poem’s shelf.
If I do not keep on writing. Then the ink will seep within. Causing an inner struggle. Solved only by the pen. The notebook is my body. And the folds create my heart. But without my muse.
Hunting my feed for a post to write a response to. I have done so to more than one of you. And I think am a bit addicted to doing it too. So am sending a warning to all of you.
Opuss family, I have a question for you, Please comment and decide what we should do. The #colourchallenge has been rather dull, And this time around, no one's entered at all.
200 hundred posts,. Rhymes and rhythms,. A range of topics,. Released from my brains prison,. I've no idea,. Where my thoughts arise,. Some pop in my head,. Leaving even me surprised,.
#procrastination #acrostic Creation needs a leap of faith Hoping that the bets you make Allow some kind of root to take.
Inspiration, a Small word, but it can be so Very hard to find.
#acrostic C an't you see that these are chaotiC . H ate these things, they're always over in a flasH. A rgh. No moments when I yell "AhA!" L eave me alone. I'm trying to defeat this eviL.
Greetings Opussians of Earth. I need your advice. I'm really not sure what to write. I feel repetitive in my writings, and as if I have succumbed to boredom in my pieces.
'Start Composing' Words say to me. 'Start writing, Let your words be free' 'Beautiful Words' The dark screen proclaims, An thing of magic, flying high, Devices are only the frames.
I love to write; I love the way the pen moves across the page; I love the illegible scribbles of my mind; the formation of words, from the complexity of thought.
I'm sorry, I know I said I will start a story tonight, but for some reason, it refuse to come to me, so I gotta wait patiently for it, but I came up with a poem about it, and sorry if it's long one...
Hmmm i should write something… YES. I LOVE WRITING STUFF. but what… I know a blog. But no one likes my blogs… Then make them better duh.
Okay guys I haven't really blogged anything a while so hello. I hope you are are well. I'm okay although little things that's over think have been on my mind quite a bit.
Inspiration. Strikes. In the dead of the. Night,. Ungodly hours,. Or whilst I'm in. The shower,. My brain confused,. With lyrical. Abuse,. A to Z of verse. Put it together. Make words converse,.
My dream is To paint life Capture it On canvas No way To say what I feel Still learning To let it out In an explosive swipe There is paint everywhere My pastels darken My water lightens My hand...
Poetry is supposed to be an outlet An outpour of emotions and thoughts But to sit down and write a poem is rarely easy My head gets too caught up in what should be CAPITALIZED and lowercased In...
Protest against trying to be the first on the Opuss of the day/week/month/year. Enjoy. :) "Let's all race for the top, 'Cause the clock just struck midnight. So here's our chance to beat 'em all.
I was going to post a quote But there wasn't any need There's already far too many Clogging up my feed An instalment of my story A nice fat juicy chunk But I couldn't concentrate Because I got a...
I was never good at much With my words People I could touch It is my only gift My words can be Happy and emotive My mind and hand Are as one Towards the world of words I ran Opuss was the...
A post about ranking inspires me to ask, "is productivity more valuable than creativity?" A hundred opusses or articles a month better than one hot story which mangles your mind and lifts your pulse.
Do I have to write. Do I want to write. What will I write. Anything I like. What if people get offended. They regret they'd ever seen it. Words can't harm a clever man.
Writing has always been a part of my life. There's always been this unknown force that keeps drawing me to the idea of taking a pen and sheet of paper to write my dreams, my ideas, my poems, my love.
They say to write a poem you must always use your mind. So why do words just come to me when my mind is left behind. I go to sleep, or so I think, and then they rush inside my head.