Poems About Life As A Writer Seeking Friendly Advice
#LifeAsAWriter
Amorous_tryst
Poem Published
11th Apr 2018 1:57pm
11th Apr 2018 1:57pm
The Ink Within Us
Some they write for they're dismayed,
they pen it down to help it fade
Some will write from beauty seen,
it's all around, to them, it seems
For some no more than a way to share,
so they dump it out and give it air
While others write to garner fame,
to add longevity to their name
No matter if in prose or rhyme,
the only difference, to them, is time.
But in the end, it matters not,
the many reasons for why we jot.
For all we wish of thoughts we spill, ...
they pen it down to help it fade
Some will write from beauty seen,
it's all around, to them, it seems
For some no more than a way to share,
so they dump it out and give it air
While others write to garner fame,
to add longevity to their name
No matter if in prose or rhyme,
the only difference, to them, is time.
But in the end, it matters not,
the many reasons for why we jot.
For all we wish of thoughts we spill, ...
#strength
#courage
#motivational
#inspirational
#LifeAsAWriter
1087 reads
23 Comments
snugglebuck
Poem Published
10th Apr 2018 11:36pm
10th Apr 2018 11:36pm
The Maya Angelou You Didn’t Know
Once an exotic dancer Maya was proud of her past at a time when any mention of sexuality left most aghast.
She was one of the first outspoken critics of our involvement in Southeast Asian conflict well before our troops were part of it.
Maya drank Cherry when while writing poetry and she loved baking, saying the scent of fresh baked cookies awakened her sensory sagacity.
She was religious without being a zealot, and she was feminist without being a militant.
A true poet, Maya Angelou couldn’t be labelled, because Maya Angelou was a true...
She was one of the first outspoken critics of our involvement in Southeast Asian conflict well before our troops were part of it.
Maya drank Cherry when while writing poetry and she loved baking, saying the scent of fresh baked cookies awakened her sensory sagacity.
She was religious without being a zealot, and she was feminist without being a militant.
A true poet, Maya Angelou couldn’t be labelled, because Maya Angelou was a true...
#LifeAsAWriter
#MayaAngelou
742 reads
4 Comments
AutisticPoet
Poem Published
28th Mar 2018 4:55pm
28th Mar 2018 4:55pm
A Poet Is An Artist
A poet is an artist,
we paint with words and formats.
Our canvas is the internet,
parchment paper, a wall,
or fabric.
Our paints are pigmented with our
lives, slowly growing revealing
our strife.
With each line, we paint a grand design.
For a poet has an imagination
that has no secrets,
for us it’s easy to be honest,
special when the pen
is beaconing
for us to pick it up.
You can’t be a poet and be shy,
for who will take notice
of your grand design if
you won’t look them in...
we paint with words and formats.
Our canvas is the internet,
parchment paper, a wall,
or fabric.
Our paints are pigmented with our
lives, slowly growing revealing
our strife.
With each line, we paint a grand design.
For a poet has an imagination
that has no secrets,
for us it’s easy to be honest,
special when the pen
is beaconing
for us to pick it up.
You can’t be a poet and be shy,
for who will take notice
of your grand design if
you won’t look them in...
#FreeVerse
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
703 reads
3 Comments
Imagine
Poem Published
25th Feb 2018 7:24pm
25th Feb 2018 7:24pm
Ink from the Pen
The ink from my pen spills onto the sand,
My hands drop down to scoop it all up,
Like an addict with cocaine, I'm enraptured by the pain,
So I'm getting it tattooed into the page that sits inside my head,
The ink in the sand spreads into the sea,
Blackening it all so that I can dip myself inside,
I submerge myself in the ink-water, smiling as I breathe in the liquid,
Exhaling colorful water to keep myself alive and well.
My hands drop down to scoop it all up,
Like an addict with cocaine, I'm enraptured by the pain,
So I'm getting it tattooed into the page that sits inside my head,
The ink in the sand spreads into the sea,
Blackening it all so that I can dip myself inside,
I submerge myself in the ink-water, smiling as I breathe in the liquid,
Exhaling colorful water to keep myself alive and well.
#LifeAsAWriter
373 reads
1 Comment
niknshell
Poem Published
14th Feb 2018 6:58pm
14th Feb 2018 6:58pm
Pen...
The relationship with the pen...
a tumultuous affair that tries to end...
The connection between the apparatus and the ponderings of my mind seem to reject each other at every turn...like zaps of static electricity...
creating a learned recoil and retreat...
Trying to take hold of one or the other seems to leave confusion and despair...
The relationship with my pen is a relationship with myself...
Something not to be controlled...
But just to be....
The relationship with my pen...
a tumultuous affair...I just will never end.
a tumultuous affair that tries to end...
The connection between the apparatus and the ponderings of my mind seem to reject each other at every turn...like zaps of static electricity...
creating a learned recoil and retreat...
Trying to take hold of one or the other seems to leave confusion and despair...
The relationship with my pen is a relationship with myself...
Something not to be controlled...
But just to be....
The relationship with my pen...
a tumultuous affair...I just will never end.
#mirror
#LifeAsAWriter
#MyInspiration
#myself
#SelfReflection
873 reads
2 Comments
eswaller
Poem Published
2nd Feb 2018 7:37pm
2nd Feb 2018 7:37pm
What Makes Me Selfish
I am selfish because I want your attention more
Than anything or anyone else. Eyes that beg you
To talk to me, look at me and touch me. I possess
The whole world laying at my feet, but this war
Without you there is like having the best view
Without someone else to enjoy it with. Undress
Me and the words because I am selfish enough
To want to enjoy the silence of solitude with
You. There are no other alternative or ulterior
Motives. Although I come across as being tough
As nails, I crave all that is made out of a myth
And something that is...
Than anything or anyone else. Eyes that beg you
To talk to me, look at me and touch me. I possess
The whole world laying at my feet, but this war
Without you there is like having the best view
Without someone else to enjoy it with. Undress
Me and the words because I am selfish enough
To want to enjoy the silence of solitude with
You. There are no other alternative or ulterior
Motives. Although I come across as being tough
As nails, I crave all that is made out of a myth
And something that is...
#LifeAsAWriter
600 reads
2 Comments
aabbchot
Poem Published
1st Feb 2018 9:31am
1st Feb 2018 9:31am
WHITE DREAMING ON MOUNT WARNING
I am dreaming about men. I am dreaming about women.
I am dreaming i have tits walking across nearby highway,
walking along local street with busy endless small shops.
I am dreaming this recurring unresolving dream
I have a cock. I like having a cock. I don't want to not have a cock.
I like having something i can touch, handle, hold, fondle, move around,
cradle in the cusp of my hand ;
imagining, feeling, rolling, hearing click, click, click of
smooth round solid cue balls.
I am a...
I am dreaming i have tits walking across nearby highway,
walking along local street with busy endless small shops.
I am dreaming this recurring unresolving dream
I have a cock. I like having a cock. I don't want to not have a cock.
I like having something i can touch, handle, hold, fondle, move around,
cradle in the cusp of my hand ;
imagining, feeling, rolling, hearing click, click, click of
smooth round solid cue balls.
I am a...
#dreams
#LifeAsAWriter
#LifeChangingMoment
#LifeGoals
#LifeCycle
619 reads
2 Comments
dplainview
Poem Published
31st Jan 2018 6:02pm
31st Jan 2018 6:02pm
#655
Clouded, cold, curved glass moulds my image
All images
Over and under my eyelids
All my could-have-been's
Tyre marks and bent metal, earth and late regret
Warm flesh against mine
Entwined fingers or fractured spines filed down along asphalt
Lips and tongues dancing or exposed organs renouncing just one last throw of a life
Just to spite the true end
Just one night with true friends
Just one bite to her neck
One gasp of breath
A slow smile.
Then bring me death.
All images
Over and under my eyelids
All my could-have-been's
Tyre marks and bent metal, earth and late regret
Warm flesh against mine
Entwined fingers or fractured spines filed down along asphalt
Lips and tongues dancing or exposed organs renouncing just one last throw of a life
Just to spite the true end
Just one night with true friends
Just one bite to her neck
One gasp of breath
A slow smile.
Then bring me death.
#LifeAsAWriter
401 reads
0 Comments
AdamJames
ghostOfaGirl
ghostOfaGirl
Poem Published
30th Jan 2018 6:27pm
30th Jan 2018 6:27pm
Animals
This is all we are. This is what we have become.
We are animals rabid, feral animals.
We did not start as animals, no, we are going to end as them.
We are humans We have souls and we are hungry.
We are starving to take power and control from those smaller than us those weaker than us.
We are as blind to the pain we cause others and the destruction we bring on the world as animals are blind to color.
The world is a beautiful, colorful place to humans and animals are unable to see you understand it's true beauty
so why is it that humans are the ones...
We are animals rabid, feral animals.
We did not start as animals, no, we are going to end as them.
We are humans We have souls and we are hungry.
We are starving to take power and control from those smaller than us those weaker than us.
We are as blind to the pain we cause others and the destruction we bring on the world as animals are blind to color.
The world is a beautiful, colorful place to humans and animals are unable to see you understand it's true beauty
so why is it that humans are the ones...
#LifeAsAWriter
468 reads
3 Comments
oskar
Poem Published
30th Jan 2018 9:23am
30th Jan 2018 9:23am
parallel lives
Parallel Lives
Is there such thing as living two separate lives?
I lived in a vale called the “Valley of the cobblers” were everyone
wore wooden clogs, a dead giveaway if you have been out late,
I have many friends there know me by my first name.
Have a homestead rising donkeys of the sturdy, strong type,
also sold miniature donkeys, children especially liked them
I had a man who looked after the animals when I had to return to
city life, but as time passed I came to believe my real life was
in the valley, because I feel like an intruder...
Is there such thing as living two separate lives?
I lived in a vale called the “Valley of the cobblers” were everyone
wore wooden clogs, a dead giveaway if you have been out late,
I have many friends there know me by my first name.
Have a homestead rising donkeys of the sturdy, strong type,
also sold miniature donkeys, children especially liked them
I had a man who looked after the animals when I had to return to
city life, but as time passed I came to believe my real life was
in the valley, because I feel like an intruder...
#LifeAsAWriter
518 reads
0 Comments
JustOneMan
Poem Published
28th Jan 2018 7:53am
28th Jan 2018 7:53am
Q&A #4: In 'Time'
What is 'time'?
Einstein said it is an illusion
"...albeit a very persistent one."
If 'time' is an illusion, what does it [appear to] contain?
Matter and energy.
What does one thus derive?
Conscious human experience
through 'time'.
What does one derive from that?
A lesson.
What lesson?
A lesson in 'time';
as it is; relative
to the observer.
Who is the observer?
Each observe their own
[in kind] in 'time'.
Einstein said it is an illusion
"...albeit a very persistent one."
If 'time' is an illusion, what does it [appear to] contain?
Matter and energy.
What does one thus derive?
Conscious human experience
through 'time'.
What does one derive from that?
A lesson.
What lesson?
A lesson in 'time';
as it is; relative
to the observer.
Who is the observer?
Each observe their own
[in kind] in 'time'.
#lies
#betrayal
#WritersBlock #LifeAsAWriter
#WritersBlock #LifeAsAWriter
518 reads
1 Comment
Rogerh
Poem Published
28th Jan 2018 6:22am
28th Jan 2018 6:22am
Babbling Brook
Babbling Brook
Through my mind there runs a stream
Made up of my nightmares and dreams
Confusion flows over like Niagara Falls
Undercurrents of drowning calls
Words spill like intoxicating red wine
Like blood from a decapitated swine
Water breaks over me like a flood
All because insanity is in my blood
If you drill deep you will find
A babbling brook within my mind
Through my mind there runs a stream
Made up of my nightmares and dreams
Confusion flows over like Niagara Falls
Undercurrents of drowning calls
Words spill like intoxicating red wine
Like blood from a decapitated swine
Water breaks over me like a flood
All because insanity is in my blood
If you drill deep you will find
A babbling brook within my mind
#identity
#LifeAsAWriter
521 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Poems About Life As A Writer Seeking Friendly Advice
