Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Karisa Brown Nov 2018
Our backs hold stories
Not even the spine
On a book can handle
Ivan Brooks Sr Mar 2018
For about an entire week,
I experienced the writer's block.
All I did was pace and peek,
At the old broken wall clock.
I had the compulsion to write,
But I lacked the inspiration.
Though I had the burning desire,
I couldn't find the motivation.
The quest took me to the book,
And I found nothing there.
I tried a completely different look,
That resulted in nothing either.
Whatsoever I really did,
Produced nothing much
In spite of this, I didn't want to quit
So I tried a deeper search.
I searched within others
They had nothing either.
So I liaised with some brothers,
Some had nothing to share.
Then I tried my fellow writers,
They had everything over there
I tried to search beyond them,
And the question was where?
So I said to myself ****,
What about I stay right here!

This is fictional but purely a beautiful poetry...I have been busy trying to get life's tight grips from my neck.
Liam C Calhoun Sep 2015
“One’s” ok, but “two’s” illegal come a night whispered,

Or so the grass spoke –

     Run like the wind.
          But always look back.
          So to liberate all you’ve loved.
          So too, awaits a home, only dreamt.

And she ran,
From village to village –

     Blankets wrought pollen.
          For another’s eyes.
     Our baby,
          The outlaw prior even born;
          Hot on heal, the “department.”

And we ran,
Hopping continents –

     I, so to support.
     Our son,
          So to survive.
     My wife in wait,
          Our second miracle burrowed,
          Just beyond the world I’d promised,

A land, so help me, and shore we’d arrive one day.
The Department of Birth Control's hot on our heals. I've gotten my son away from where we were; but two remain and so help me, four will be reunited soon. So yes, that's where I've been and that's what I've been doing.

— The End —