poems about writing

Let Me Dream If You Can | John Patrick Robbins

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I suffer from insomnia I sleep for an hour if lucky, others view me, think I have gone insane.
They are fools.
For that happened after the first time I knew poison that is love.
Happiness moved in and my mind escaped like some cat who saw its chance then fled never to return.
We are all insane to a degree, those who chase the page only to bleed from the pen.
Making a promise we can never keep.
People will say many things.
I am too exhausted to care anymore.
But many lies embrace this page as once I did so easily you.
I am beyond exhausted but can’t bear the thought of finding you in the dreams I once knew to be my reality.
Let me sleep tonight as you allow my life to remain empty in reality.
“Man you’re really losing your grip”.
An old friend said to me.
Sitting upon the ledge, watching as I struggled to cling to the ledge.
Never once did he offer a helping hand.
That’s what friends are for.
He played with his phone and was lost in his own world as so many are.
He could tell you what a trainwreck you were but never pull you from tracks.
I needed rest he needed a soul.
I could always buy sleeping pills.

Those Are Fighting Words | Camille Clark

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Two verbs sparred
in the dust until noon,
Returning with knuckles
broken and teeth dented,
They waited for healing
from other words,
But there was only taunting
from the nouns and adverbs,
Only description of the fight
from the adjectives.

Circumlocution | Kathy J. Anderson

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Ancestors Of old times
Time their visits to me,
In dreams and visions wake,
Awake me to the spirits I seek,
Seeking to renew life,
Living for tomorrow…

Tomorrow begins new
Newly wishing I’m free
Freely speaking my heart
Heartfully making songs
Sung inside this souls place
Placing it in life’s view…

Viewing the chaos realms
A realm where change blossoms
Blooming with new vigor
Vigorously starting,
The starts growing right up
Upward summer burgeons…

Burgeoning words blowing
Blown by winds directions
Directly unbind air
Airily circulates
To circumnavigate
Cirrus highs and fogs lows.

Typo | Cattail Jester

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Set of words and letters
that don’t add up, simply
an unfortunate misspelling
when I could have added
up so something more.
They will say, “If only his
A had been in a better place
or for the love of B.”

The Role of a Hyena | Alexandre Bartolo Knabah Júnior

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My notepad
is full of grammatical deviations
delivered by the hyena with a lion’s mane.
She now fights against her own
paws, looking for some water,
in the immensity of catch phrases.
She hopes no one will interrupt her,
no one will mock her yellow wig,
no one will stamp her face in camaraderie media.
—–
Alexandre Bartolo is a Brazilian student who thrives, reads, and doesn’t understand anything at all.

I Am My Words | Bonnie Burka Shannon

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My poems are
Of me
The prose
Though spare
Reveals layers
That characterize me
As a living being
To myself
To others
I am my words
They burst forth
From my
Untold self
Surprising me
And perhaps others
With their authenticity
And emotions
I can reveal
So much
With just
A few words
That identify
Where and
Who I am
In the world
Words affect me
Expressions
When scripted
Become who I am
On any given day
I am my words
Even if they
Remain just
Passing thoughts
Hovering in
My brain
Until I write them
My poems
May expose
Where others stand
In my life
They never deceive me
They are my words
They are
Who I am
The moment
I expose them

More at http://shannon50.dudaone.com/poetry-by-bonnie.

The Art of It | Alyssa Trivett

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Cross a “t”
or dot an “i”
and keep your toes
on the dotted margin party line.
Succinct.
No unwinding scrolls,
nor loose semicolons.
Keep it tight. A locked door.
Abbreviated daylight
pours in. Continue,
young comma.
—–
Alyssa Trivett is a wandering soul from the Midwest. When not working two jobs, she listens to music and scrawls lines on the back of gas station receipts. Her work has recently appeared at VerseWrights, In Between Hangovers, Your One Phone Call, and Spillwords. She has fifteen poems in a poetry anthology entitled Ambrosia, released by OWS Ink, LLC. All proceeds from the anthology are being donated to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (afsp.org). Digital link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/742799. Amazon Kindle link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074WCLD69/ref=tsm_1_fb_lk.

At Night | Alyssa Trivett

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When the demons come out to play,
I’m a comma, free-floating,
collecting pennies per minute
of sleep I’m wishing-well missing
as red numbers slam dance
on the alarm clock
and try to bribe me in Zs
and window breeze to
close the shutter eyelids.
Instead, I stand one-footed on
the library ladder
mixing up words on post-it notes
at odd hours,
like the watering time-frame of suburban lawns,
only worse.
—–
Alyssa Trivett is a wandering soul from the Midwest. When not working two jobs, she listens to music and scrawls lines on the back of gas station receipts. Her work has recently appeared at VerseWrights, In Between Hangovers, Your One Phone Call, and Spillwords. She has fifteen poems in a poetry anthology entitled Ambrosia, released by OWS Ink, LLC. All proceeds from the anthology are being donated to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (afsp.org). Digital link: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/742799. Amazon Kindle link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074WCLD69/ref=tsm_1_fb_lk.

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