Poems About Writers Block Published by Members Recently Online
#WritersBlock
a_methyste
hlightdroid
hlightdroid
Poem Published
23rd Dec 2024 8:27pm
23rd Dec 2024 8:27pm
A writer's block
I have come to a point where I envy
a story teller
A short poem
I used to write
But my hands are dry
And I envy those who embrace the muse every day
And make love to her.
a story teller
A short poem
I used to write
But my hands are dry
And I envy those who embrace the muse every day
And make love to her.
#WritersBlock
78 reads
8 Comments
Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Mr Karswell
Poem Published
23rd Jul 2022 5:18pm
23rd Jul 2022 5:18pm
A Second Best Bed
inspired by the historical facts that William Shakespeare stopped writing in the last years of his life and left in his will his “second best bed” to his wife, Anne Hathaway
The lingo of the self
grown out
and expanding,
and pushing past
the peanut smell
and piss,
the globe of London
in some year
as yet unremarked upon;
the lingo turned to language
and made us.
And yet in its last years its god
retreated from the firmament,
sat up in a Tudor bed
and reading Ovid to itself.
...
The lingo of the self
grown out
and expanding,
and pushing past
the peanut smell
and piss,
the globe of London
in some year
as yet unremarked upon;
the lingo turned to language
and made us.
And yet in its last years its god
retreated from the firmament,
sat up in a Tudor bed
and reading Ovid to itself.
...
#confessional
#WritersBlock
#LifeAsAWriter #WritingPoetry
#LifeAsAWriter #WritingPoetry
351 reads
3 Comments
Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Mr Karswell
Poem Published
23rd Jul 2022 5:18pm
23rd Jul 2022 5:18pm
A Second Best Bed
inspired by the historical facts that William Shakespeare stopped writing in the last years of his life and left in his will his “second best bed” to his wife, Anne Hathaway
The lingo of the self
grown out
and expanding,
and pushing past
the peanut smell
and piss,
the globe of London
in some year
as yet unremarked upon;
the lingo turned to language
and made us.
And yet in its last years its god
retreated from the firmament,
sat up in a Tudor bed
and reading Ovid to itself.
...
The lingo of the self
grown out
and expanding,
and pushing past
the peanut smell
and piss,
the globe of London
in some year
as yet unremarked upon;
the lingo turned to language
and made us.
And yet in its last years its god
retreated from the firmament,
sat up in a Tudor bed
and reading Ovid to itself.
...
#confessional
#WritersBlock
#LifeAsAWriter #WritingPoetry
#LifeAsAWriter #WritingPoetry
351 reads
3 Comments
Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Mr Karswell
Poem Published
23rd Jul 2022 5:18pm
23rd Jul 2022 5:18pm
A Second Best Bed
inspired by the historical facts that William Shakespeare stopped writing in the last years of his life and left in his will his “second best bed” to his wife, Anne Hathaway
The lingo of the self
grown out
and expanding,
and pushing past
the peanut smell
and piss,
the globe of London
in some year
as yet unremarked upon;
the lingo turned to language
and made us.
And yet in its last years its god
retreated from the firmament,
sat up in a Tudor bed
and reading Ovid to itself.
...
The lingo of the self
grown out
and expanding,
and pushing past
the peanut smell
and piss,
the globe of London
in some year
as yet unremarked upon;
the lingo turned to language
and made us.
And yet in its last years its god
retreated from the firmament,
sat up in a Tudor bed
and reading Ovid to itself.
...
#confessional
#WritersBlock
#LifeAsAWriter #WritingPoetry
#LifeAsAWriter #WritingPoetry
351 reads
3 Comments
Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Mr Karswell
Poem Published
23rd Jul 2022 5:18pm
23rd Jul 2022 5:18pm
A Second Best Bed
inspired by the historical facts that William Shakespeare stopped writing in the last years of his life and left in his will his “second best bed” to his wife, Anne Hathaway
The lingo of the self
grown out
and expanding,
and pushing past
the peanut smell
and piss,
the globe of London
in some year
as yet unremarked upon;
the lingo turned to language
and made us.
And yet in its last years its god
retreated from the firmament,
sat up in a Tudor bed
and reading Ovid to itself.
...
The lingo of the self
grown out
and expanding,
and pushing past
the peanut smell
and piss,
the globe of London
in some year
as yet unremarked upon;
the lingo turned to language
and made us.
And yet in its last years its god
retreated from the firmament,
sat up in a Tudor bed
and reading Ovid to itself.
...
#confessional
#WritersBlock
#LifeAsAWriter #WritingPoetry
#LifeAsAWriter #WritingPoetry
351 reads
3 Comments
MalcolmG
Poem Published
23rd Nov 2024 00:18am
23rd Nov 2024 00:18am
Another Day, Another Scribble
Sometimes I sit here,
staring at the blank page,
wondering what to write about
what’s rattling around in my head.
Is it something profound,
or am I just taking the piss again?
Sometimes I think I’m winding people up,
other times, I’m genuinely trying to say something.
I write when I’m happy.
I write when I’m sad.
I write when the world looks beautiful
and when it looks like the bottom of a bin,
Even if it might smell a bit crappy,
Sometimes it’s rage pouring out,
sometimes it’s a laugh at my own expense.
I never...
staring at the blank page,
wondering what to write about
what’s rattling around in my head.
Is it something profound,
or am I just taking the piss again?
Sometimes I think I’m winding people up,
other times, I’m genuinely trying to say something.
I write when I’m happy.
I write when I’m sad.
I write when the world looks beautiful
and when it looks like the bottom of a bin,
Even if it might smell a bit crappy,
Sometimes it’s rage pouring out,
sometimes it’s a laugh at my own expense.
I never...
#dark
#funny
#honesty
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritersBlock
91 reads
0 Comments
MalcolmG
Poem Published
23rd Nov 2024 00:18am
23rd Nov 2024 00:18am
Another Day, Another Scribble
Sometimes I sit here,
staring at the blank page,
wondering what to write about
what’s rattling around in my head.
Is it something profound,
or am I just taking the piss again?
Sometimes I think I’m winding people up,
other times, I’m genuinely trying to say something.
I write when I’m happy.
I write when I’m sad.
I write when the world looks beautiful
and when it looks like the bottom of a bin,
Even if it might smell a bit crappy,
Sometimes it’s rage pouring out,
sometimes it’s a laugh at my own expense.
I never...
staring at the blank page,
wondering what to write about
what’s rattling around in my head.
Is it something profound,
or am I just taking the piss again?
Sometimes I think I’m winding people up,
other times, I’m genuinely trying to say something.
I write when I’m happy.
I write when I’m sad.
I write when the world looks beautiful
and when it looks like the bottom of a bin,
Even if it might smell a bit crappy,
Sometimes it’s rage pouring out,
sometimes it’s a laugh at my own expense.
I never...
#dark
#funny
#honesty
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritersBlock
91 reads
0 Comments
MalcolmG
Poem Published
23rd Nov 2024 00:18am
23rd Nov 2024 00:18am
Another Day, Another Scribble
Sometimes I sit here,
staring at the blank page,
wondering what to write about
what’s rattling around in my head.
Is it something profound,
or am I just taking the piss again?
Sometimes I think I’m winding people up,
other times, I’m genuinely trying to say something.
I write when I’m happy.
I write when I’m sad.
I write when the world looks beautiful
and when it looks like the bottom of a bin,
Even if it might smell a bit crappy,
Sometimes it’s rage pouring out,
sometimes it’s a laugh at my own expense.
I never...
staring at the blank page,
wondering what to write about
what’s rattling around in my head.
Is it something profound,
or am I just taking the piss again?
Sometimes I think I’m winding people up,
other times, I’m genuinely trying to say something.
I write when I’m happy.
I write when I’m sad.
I write when the world looks beautiful
and when it looks like the bottom of a bin,
Even if it might smell a bit crappy,
Sometimes it’s rage pouring out,
sometimes it’s a laugh at my own expense.
I never...
#dark
#funny
#honesty
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritersBlock
91 reads
0 Comments
MalcolmG
Poem Published
23rd Nov 2024 00:18am
23rd Nov 2024 00:18am
Another Day, Another Scribble
Sometimes I sit here,
staring at the blank page,
wondering what to write about
what’s rattling around in my head.
Is it something profound,
or am I just taking the piss again?
Sometimes I think I’m winding people up,
other times, I’m genuinely trying to say something.
I write when I’m happy.
I write when I’m sad.
I write when the world looks beautiful
and when it looks like the bottom of a bin,
Even if it might smell a bit crappy,
Sometimes it’s rage pouring out,
sometimes it’s a laugh at my own expense.
I never...
staring at the blank page,
wondering what to write about
what’s rattling around in my head.
Is it something profound,
or am I just taking the piss again?
Sometimes I think I’m winding people up,
other times, I’m genuinely trying to say something.
I write when I’m happy.
I write when I’m sad.
I write when the world looks beautiful
and when it looks like the bottom of a bin,
Even if it might smell a bit crappy,
Sometimes it’s rage pouring out,
sometimes it’s a laugh at my own expense.
I never...
#dark
#funny
#honesty
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritersBlock
91 reads
0 Comments
MalcolmG
Poem Published
23rd Nov 2024 00:18am
23rd Nov 2024 00:18am
Another Day, Another Scribble
Sometimes I sit here,
staring at the blank page,
wondering what to write about
what’s rattling around in my head.
Is it something profound,
or am I just taking the piss again?
Sometimes I think I’m winding people up,
other times, I’m genuinely trying to say something.
I write when I’m happy.
I write when I’m sad.
I write when the world looks beautiful
and when it looks like the bottom of a bin,
Even if it might smell a bit crappy,
Sometimes it’s rage pouring out,
sometimes it’s a laugh at my own expense.
I never...
staring at the blank page,
wondering what to write about
what’s rattling around in my head.
Is it something profound,
or am I just taking the piss again?
Sometimes I think I’m winding people up,
other times, I’m genuinely trying to say something.
I write when I’m happy.
I write when I’m sad.
I write when the world looks beautiful
and when it looks like the bottom of a bin,
Even if it might smell a bit crappy,
Sometimes it’s rage pouring out,
sometimes it’s a laugh at my own expense.
I never...
#dark
#funny
#honesty
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritersBlock
91 reads
0 Comments
Strangeways_Rob
Poem Published
15th Apr 2021 8:44pm
15th Apr 2021 8:44pm
fingerprint on the edge of the sky
Spaces between rain drops are the blood
Trenched in veins between body & Holy Ghost.
Somewhere inside,
Compass spins heavy o’er the heart.
Navigate imagination by stars, scars,
Suburban semaphore & the comfort of strangers:
Fountains bursting up towards Heaven
Falling as fragments of Dead Sea scroll.
The brain is conversation
In the ruins of elegiac language.
Sinking silence of the gnawed night
Visions afar, broken teeth of river mouth
Taste the thirst of dying mother-tongue.
Echoes of anfarwoli* drown the...
Trenched in veins between body & Holy Ghost.
Somewhere inside,
Compass spins heavy o’er the heart.
Navigate imagination by stars, scars,
Suburban semaphore & the comfort of strangers:
Fountains bursting up towards Heaven
Falling as fragments of Dead Sea scroll.
The brain is conversation
In the ruins of elegiac language.
Sinking silence of the gnawed night
Visions afar, broken teeth of river mouth
Taste the thirst of dying mother-tongue.
Echoes of anfarwoli* drown the...
#love
#universe
#nature #WritersBlock
#nature #WritersBlock
340 reads
3 Comments
Strangeways_Rob
Poem Published
15th Apr 2021 8:44pm
15th Apr 2021 8:44pm
fingerprint on the edge of the sky
Spaces between rain drops are the blood
Trenched in veins between body & Holy Ghost.
Somewhere inside,
Compass spins heavy o’er the heart.
Navigate imagination by stars, scars,
Suburban semaphore & the comfort of strangers:
Fountains bursting up towards Heaven
Falling as fragments of Dead Sea scroll.
The brain is conversation
In the ruins of elegiac language.
Sinking silence of the gnawed night
Visions afar, broken teeth of river mouth
Taste the thirst of dying mother-tongue.
Echoes of anfarwoli* drown the...
Trenched in veins between body & Holy Ghost.
Somewhere inside,
Compass spins heavy o’er the heart.
Navigate imagination by stars, scars,
Suburban semaphore & the comfort of strangers:
Fountains bursting up towards Heaven
Falling as fragments of Dead Sea scroll.
The brain is conversation
In the ruins of elegiac language.
Sinking silence of the gnawed night
Visions afar, broken teeth of river mouth
Taste the thirst of dying mother-tongue.
Echoes of anfarwoli* drown the...
#love
#universe
#nature #WritersBlock
#nature #WritersBlock
340 reads
3 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems About Writers Block Published by Members Recently Online
