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Mohannie Jan 2019
I’m blocked

Can’t think of anything to write
Searching for inspiration with a fight

I’m locked

Scanning my head for lines
Scouring my heart that confines

I’m shocked

Nothing to say
No words to pay

I’m clocked

Nothing on the sheet
The clock I can’t beat

I’m blocked?

Turns out I just wrote a poem
While suffering from writer’s block
Huh. I wanted to write something but I’m in writer’s block. Here’s the outcome!
Dike Aduluso Jan 2019
It came from cloudless blue
No herald of its fall
Was served as heaven’s brew
To quench the thirst of all
To give to morn its dew
And cause to tiller’s prance
To wet dry ground anew
With peace, joy, song, and dance

A peace of spotless white
Urged warring halves to join
As weary eyes did sight
The gleam of nature’s coin

A joy of love’s consent
Burned bright from empty core
As ailing nose did scent
The rise of petrichor

A song to woe's distaste
From voice of grateful praise
As thirsting tongue did taste
The ale of favour's daze

A dance of festive tier
On soles of arid sores
As shutting ears did hear
The tune of Angels' scores

A comfort so surreal
Set last of five to race
As numbing nerves did feel
The warmth of wet embrace

It came from cloudless blue
As touch of God’s good hand
To bid fierce drought adieu
With child for barren land
Who looks not to years past
But thanks the Lord laid bare
Having found at long last
The one for whom to care
Dike Aduluso Dec 2018
There was once a drought that thundered through the land
It stormed from north to south sparing neither head nor hand
It came on the heels of may, to rob fields of their right
Giving hunger to day then taking respite from night

Sun came and moon thereafter, time and time again
Yet the skies yielded no answer to the outcry of men
‘Cause fortune did reject the farmer’s desperate plea
For sin of thankless neglect towards soil of sower’s glee

Clouds massed in mocking grey, winds whispered hopeful lies
Telling of a better day when we would hear the heavens’ cries
Such was the willful drought that ended harvest’s reign
Starving land of fruitful sprout till Mercy brought the rain

I should say no more of the gloom through days of old
But with words long withheld, tell of that which should be told.
I miss bleeding.
I have not bled in a while.

Not for lack of trying.  Believe me. I
Have scratched and scratched beneath
The surface. Like a bad rash each time.

I come up dry,  not a blood to smear.
It has happened before. More than once actually.

You would think.  By now.  I would know how to deal
With it.  But like conflict,  not one is exactly the same.
You would think.  I.  Would be patient.  This too shall pass.

But don't nobody got time for that. For to bleed is to live.

So I scratch. and I claw. Through this four.  Walled chamber

Till I bleed just enough.  To feed my pen.  To quench this thirst.


©Belema .S.  Ekine
©belemascribbles
It is a process
Wanderer Dec 2018
When words fail me
I imagine myself as an artist
expressing all my hopes, fears, dreams
through paint
on canvas
but the end result
would just be chaos
an explosion of color
an endless knot of lines
incomprehensible designs

because chaos is whats in my mind
Amanda Kay Burke Dec 2018
Love you no matter what
Every day good and bad
All I need is a little appreciation
For the memorable years we have had
You are welcome for stroking your head
On those nautious nights we faced
They have worn us thin in spots
We are stronger from being in that dark place
I will always do my best to protect you
From each threat we find ourselves staring at
In return all I ask is for you to tell me
I look beautiful when I'm feeling sad and fat
Thanks for your patience
Waiting for me to get ready
And when I can't contain rage
For keeping your voice calm and steady
We balance eachother like a scale
You're the yin to my yang, the no to my yes,
We disagree often but the one thing we do agree on
Is that we couldnt love eachother any less
A poem I wrote FOR my mom TO my dad for their anniversary if that makes sense... rotfl!
Elizabeth Brown Nov 2018
Here I go again;
putting you to the forefront of my mind.
pushing these words back and back, endlessly
...simply because you opened your eyes.
is beauty more important than art?
I had a whole *** poem, and lost it because my boyfriend woke up. Typical, scatterbrained me.
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