While we were talking about
love, marriage and migraine
she kept fiddling with
her reticule– opening
putting her pen in and out
and shutting again
--R.K.Singh
It is what it is.
A stroke of a pen,
pixels of light,
A heart scrawl,
Screaming emotion
Or pleasant thought,
Wether it pops out
Or is coaxed,
from the ether of consciousness
a soul's awaking yawn
It is what is
and lives as it is born
Tinkered and toyed with
all manner of distortions borne
It sits in its reality
a nieche of existence
A poem waiting to be heard and judged worthy
because it speaks to a another soul.
It is what is
not a jot or itoa more
Do you ever write
to separate from pain
or anger
by birthing experience
onto paper
Do you write
afraid of otherwise
forgetting
Do you write to
persuade?
Do you write
to share
-saiom shriver-
Footnote:
My answer to Lee's question
at
http://allpoetry-classic.com/poem/11724445-why_do_you_write_-by-Ichi-finga
Trapped alone in a cave,
Our freedom we still save,
As our lives are inscribed and trapped away,
As a bottle of dried ink.
Bump and bop and knock then stop.
It’s a rhythmic beat to reap the sleep
and see what’s been shown, not meet what’s
been known over and over again,
just changing how it flows from pen to pen
or mind to mind.
Just mind the edges and don’t fall off,
but conquer those hedges secluding Truth,
hung aloft up above for all to see,
and perceive Love,
shoved beneath and stomped
under feet, but breathing
and needing our attention,
undivided and whole—
a beckoning to our eternal soul.
-Ryan K. Fuller
Tick tock you'll hear the clock,
Oh no it's thats writers block when you write some words then you stop,
you start to fluster then you realize and let it drop,
Tick tock writers block
unexpected what a shock!
The world seems silent as you fall deep into thought and you try to remember the things you were taught,
Surley theres something I could write especially with that fancy new pen that you bought,
Tick tock writers block,
When will it stop?