*poem* Just...now

Here's a poem about a never-ending "now", and the poet's duty of catching what is uncatchable.

, , , , , ,

*poem* Poet's Block

#16 of poetry a poem about writing - or the lack of same poet's block for some reason or another i didn't get around to writing this down yesterday or the day before that and the blank page is beginning to annoy me.

, , ,

Poet's Memoirs: Skyclad

On a shadowed night, such as this, I sometimes like to reminisce, And think of all the things I've said, What words I've wrote, what thoughts I've lead. I like to think I'll make my mark, I'd like to come out of the dark, But while these words...

, ,

Pony Poets (first of series)

Pony poets two special ponies will soon be three, the newest entry on the family tree, with gangly legs, and pointed ears, we will watch attentively, as you grow in years.

, , ,

A Fertile Mind's Failings

After encountering a few very frustrating days of poet's block, i decided to write a poem about it. it's something we all can relate to. all writers and artists have trouble getting things started.

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

No End, No Beginning

**special thanks:** this story is based on the song by the poets of the fall of the same title. if you haven't heard the song, i would highly recommend going to youtube and looking it up. or any of the poet's songs, for that matter.

, , , , ,

Face The World

With this, they leapt at each other screaming, ready to fight to the death over the poet's memory. _'"do you ever think some of those who were remembered as prophets were just poets who people ended up taking literally?"

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Pages

#1 of poems a poet i will never be tiz poor and lifeless devoid of perfection pages blank pages upon scribbled i have the pen bleeds my heart but lies pages so many pages blank and arid dry and torn the emptiness it scorns

,

Behind Closed Doors

I am not the best poet, but i hope you enjoy reading what i share. i was short a submission to post today, sorry!

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

One Dot Below the I (#5)

Nobody here and the air is tight as clingfilm an illuminated kitchen imposes itself with its clutter a toystore let loose under water but the distance to the i that films each who and every where equals zero after all entirely the day the aging poet

, , , , ,

Death... Is it truly the end?

Now, i wouldn't consider myself a poet, but yesterday i felt kind of... morbid yet tranquil, so i came up with this... this is for all of you who have gone and left this world...

, ,