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I write songs, Day and night, And no I'm not sharing my songs with you, There mine, Mine for life, Something special to hold onto, Something I could say I did myself, I know this isn't a good...
Staring blankly at the screen, I've run out of words. I look for inspiration, No people, flowers or birds. What could I talk about, What on earth could I write.
I am not dead. Just gone away. Like a vacation. I'm back to stay. Until I get tired. And take some time off. To get myself together. To get rid of this cough. I have not passed away.
I keep a little book, Where I write every word That I place on my Opuss So that they can be read and heard. But it's beginning to get full. And I'm starting to run out of ink.
I need a new subject to write about. Life love and fun I've totally worn out. Done a bit of erotic and a little bit of deep. And into my head you've all had a peep.
It doesn't matter. What ranking I am. What matters the most. I've done the best that I can. I like writing my jibber. Creating new stuff. If you don't like them. I guess it is tough.
First of all, I just want to say thank you to all of my followers and to everyone who has read, liked, commented and reblogged my opusses. Your support makes writing even more enjoyable.
All my little poems, displaying on the net. They hang with grace in cyberspace and sometimes I do get. A lovely bit of feedback, a comment or a like.
Today has been a quiet day by all accounts for me on Opuss. I have written nothing, and had received no notices of likes or comments.
The plot is not always perfection, The words not quite polished to glow, Some headed in backwards direction, But, sometimes, a flaw needs to show, Not all writes can shine as a diamond, Immortalised...
A limerick on judging.
We have all travelled across many lands to reach this place and each one of us has our own story to tell.
So many poems,so little time. Wonderfull words,lovely rhyme. Read just one piece that can change your mood. I am starving, and these lines are my food. So hard to keep track of everybody's stuff.
I'm veeeeeerrrrrrryyyyyy sloooooowlyyyyy creeping towards the top 100 in the ranking charts. I've hovered around the 120 mark for about a month, and slipped back a little and then forward a little.
It's late at night. But I had an urge to write. Sometimes I get these itches. Ripping me like broken stitches. So I make a rhyme. To past the time. Or because words start to flow.
#nightdwellers Are you feeling erotoxic Are you on, not off the wall Inspiration upped and left And your muse has missed your call Do you sit up late at night With sweaty tortured brow You know you...
Hey Guys, Don't really know what to write just now. Looking high and low for traces of inspiration that just don't seem to be there. Should I try: Stories. Poems. Or something else.
It's 5am. I've just woken up. Cant sleep anymore. Enough is enough. I'll do my best. To stay awake. But I don't think. I can stay awake very long anyway. I have poem. I've been debating.
I just have too much to say, These thoughts are certainly here to stay, I'm sure they ain't going away, They come by night, they come by day, They pour onto the screen, doing things their own...
I live in a land of letters, I live with the written word, I live where dreams are all transcribed, I live with the absurd.
I write to many opusses. Each and every day. I write so many opusses. I have a lot to say. I write so many opusses. This I must confess. As one day my opusses. Will simply be the best.
Opuss 200. How can this be. How did I get there. They're only from me. I'm not a great writer. And I can not rhyme. I guess I will get there. All in good time. My words don't make sense.
You sit and you think What opuss to write You ponder all day You stay up all night Thinking of things You're writing them down Reading them through You're wearing a frown It doesn't look right You...
Poetry, poetry. For me you will always be a mystery. Words get rhymed and they get that meaning. Gives us that feeling. A good or a great poem is nice to read.