Poems About Creativity

Poems By Me, For You On Odyssey

My second installment of poems, this one with a writing theme!


A few original poems about writing and creativity...or the lack of it!

Writer's Block


Open book, blank page, no inspiration.

Thinking, thinking, zoning out, having aggravation.

I have the time but no ideas. Nothing comes to mind.
Searching, searching, not a thought. No words can I find.

My pen is out and ready but I don't know what to write.
Waiting, waiting, concentrating, blank lines in my sight.

No whim, bulb is dim, and my wits just took a nap.
I didn't get a lot of help from my thinking cap.

At least I have this written down.
Until the next time around!

...I gave it all I got.
Not bad for writer's block!

Down With Pen Power


Words have power but have you forgotten

That power comes with a price?
You did not consider as you wrought in
Trouble. With a pen be wise.
You ruined us with that darned stylus.
T'was a damaging device.
Never again try to reconcile us
And listen to this advice.
Your intentions were pure but your heart leaked.
Loose this loophole called the pen.
If it is possible, don't ever speak
With the written word again.
Cut off contacts, burn the stationary,
Spill ink on the floor like blood!
The rules were reread, revise, be wary
Before someone cries a flood.
History before was moved by writers
But sometimes the righteous lose.
Rallied revolutionary fighters
It matters, which side you choose!
Words have power. What on earth have you done?
Thanks to you we pay the price.
The pen's a dangerous tool, you wretched fool.
Will apologies suffice?

Note To Self


You're having delusions of grandeur.

Your heart is racing fast,

Enebriated. You call it inspired
But this isn't going to last.

In a matter of time, you'll be sober.
Soon, you're going to crash.
Once reality strikes, it's over.
(It happened before, you know.)

Don't soar on those dreams.
They're not real!
Truth unravels with one tug at the seams
And guilt is all you will feel.

Erase all illusions. Remember
That all things are passing and vain.
They'll be dismantled, dismembered,
Forgotten. There's no saving grace in fame.

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