writers block

Don’t Know

I need a formula to know when best to write.
I write randomly most every day and night.
Rarely is it very good but sometimes it’s all right.

~

In search of inspiration everywhere I go.
Some hit in an instant, some never show.
Moods always vary as the poems reflect.
The good and bad, I think are quite easy to detect.

~

Sometime when feeling good I’ve nothing good to write.
That ticks me off assuring a terrible night.
But when feeling down writing helps me feel all right.

~

Yet the time is spent either way,
though always writing of yesterday.
Where’s the balance, it’s there I’ll go.
So if anybody knows, please let me know.

~*~
.
sck070215

Closed (temporarily)

Due to insecurity

This life of mine cannot be free

Brain’s cluttered with negative stuff

This uphill charge – I’ve had enough

~

Words all mean different things

Too many choices a sentence brings

Paragraphs explode exponentially

Random letters pour down on me

~

The sun comes out, I work indoors

On my day off it rains for sure

All my pencils say “NO” today

They too are tired of writing gray

~

My mind now wanders to parts unknown

Surrounded by friends, feeling alone

With aging body and child’s mind

A place to fit I’ve yet to find

~

I’m sorry for wasting your precious time

I guess it best to end this rhyme

~

Sck042615

Poetry in Mime

                                             .
                                         .
                              ,                    .
                  ,                   –                 .

              ,                  ,                   .
                                              ?
                                         .
                                             !!!

~
sck032515

Springs Both Ways

My grass gets tall, I don’t care
My neighbor’s old, I have no fear
A porch to sit, a pen to push
A comfy cushion for my tush

~

Singing birdies in the bush
A barking dog, I whisper “shush”
A gentle breeze across my face
A stolen moment from the human race

~

My mind’s racing to outer-space
Thoughts flowing at breakneck pace
A blink of an eye, I hit a wall
My brain is blank, nothing at all

~*~

sck030215

Pastel Poetry Please

The pallete overflows

Colors no-one knows

A spectrum of hues

Whatever I choose

But the grays get in the way

 ~

Wheels of color roll on the ground

Colors don’t matter if wheels ain’t round

Drawing time from sketchy books

Gradient defines good, shady or crooks

And the grays all have a say

~

Canvas pure, time no-more

Palletes bare, nothing to share

Thinking of more, brushes galore

Morning’s bright till dark of night

Yet the grays still paint my day

 ~

Sck021215

Bird Brain

I saw a bird in a tree.

I said “hey bird talk to me.”

He turned around, we had a chat.

I wrote it down and that was that.

We said good-bye and I flew home.

I sat right down to write this poem.

 *

But lost the notes stuffed in my vest,

And whence returned I found a nest.

“My birds prose lost, how can this be?”

I said “hey bird look at me.”

She looked down so she could see,

A babbling bird brain talking to a tree.

 *

I yelled “give back my notes in your nest.”

She returned the anger, on my vest.

I started to yell one more time.

Then thought; save the vest, forget this rhyme,

A cozy nest is better than a talking bird poem.

I just hope I think of something else when I get home.

~

sck012815