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Galleons sail to a violin concerto Orchestrated in Sea minus Reality, the 12 men and 12 women And 12 monkeys of the orchestra Are balancing on a the tip of a unihorn Of a narwhal, playing...
I miss the days where my words flowed,. From the tips of my fingers down to my toes,. I felt the words in my bones,. Words and rhyme and lyrical flow,. I've always had a fascination,.
First I'm idea-less Can't find the words Second I'm inspired Ideas just occur Third I look back Disgust in my eyes Fourth I'm regretful And wondering why Fifth I return to the initial state And get...
You show your secret flair, but it's their time they don't want to spare, they pay no attention, like a negative ballanced bill, when your hopes were up they'd have a big thrill, You are...
Dreams seem unattainable They're something to achieve But drifting through the world unnoticed Well, it makes me feel naive People say I've got a gift But when I look around So many people in this...
Inspired me Powered me I can see it I need it Why can't I do this?.
Writing and dance, my only expressions I can't do art, I've tried I can draw, but my drawings are flat They don't convey What I feel inside Just a girl with balloons They don't show how she cried How...
Safety pins on black fabric. Jackets pulled around cold arms. Icy breeze around concrete walls. Pieces of carpet tossed on the floor. Graffiti'd murals, mortar slabs. Heavy wooden desks and chairs.
My greatest creation, That took me days, Give them to my loved ones, To hear what they say. "you've done a great job!" Is what I thought they would say, And instead I get a stern face.
I want to write a poem, I know I have the time. But writing is a science, It's far much more than rhyme. A poem tells a story, And writing is an art.
A room of steam, A glass of wine. That's what it takes, To make a damned rhyme. A game of cards, A misty head. I need all this, To write what you read. Some clearing water, An aspirin.
Amethyst eyes. filled in ink,. Sketched against. white rooms,. Sound proof. with barred windows,. Keeping in the. ghosts shadows,. In a straightjacket. of paper,. Stitched together. by words,.
Writer's Block is so frustrating; It always happens when an idea is culminating. Every time you're about to pick up your pen, You're distancing yourself further from your plentiful zen.
To the poet words are more akin to blood, For without them he cannot become the man he should.
Heel, ball and toe,. Arms extend and grace,. Knees to go low,. Keep a straight face,. Orders and instruction,. Perfect every time,. The same old selection,. After practice wine,.
Composition of your arts The little pieces and parts Puzzle pieces fitting just so Just how you want them to go Shining armor, deadly fires Lightest honesty and deadly liars Adventure and...
Where are you. I don't have a clue, What could have happened to you. One day you where there the next…poof. Without you ,my inspiration,I am dead too.
The door bell rang, And the cat unleashed its fangs. Running fastly away. The note paper swooshed. Setting the ink loose. Killing a great novel of today. Rewritten and reinked.
Ambition...
I only left the room for two minutes.. Two minutes, and nothing more. Yet while I was gone, taller shadows crept in and threw themselves across the floor.
A long day has come to pass, Inky fingers entwine, push against one another, cracking quietly as the artist stretches, he rubs at his eyes, transferring a wash of colour onto his hot red cheeks,...
We as writers do as what we were born to do...
You have nothing left to say. Original nor creative today. Brain is in overdrive. Thoughts about another life. Crazy got me down and lazy. Memories dissolve and hazy. Heads smash against a brick wall.
The music carries me on and on I'm exhausted but won't give up. If I mess up now the opportunity has gone, need to keep working need to stay strong.