Tag Archives: Writing

It has come to my attention…

I thought that AIW would mention

that

It has come to my attention,

that,

when I sit down

to try and write a poem,

I end up writing one like this one.

This also happens

when I stand up

to try and write a poem.

Maybe I shouldn’t sit down

or stand up

or write poetry.

Has this sort of thing

come to your attention?

Asking for an imaginary friend –

which, as a poet,

I do have.

Words on a Page

I put

words upon a page;

it’s something I’ve done

for an age.

They might not be the best,

as good as the rest,

but, in them

my time

I invest.

Saturday Morning’s Alright For Writing – revisited.

Saturday Morning,

like every other morning,

is a good time for writing;

and, seeing as how

it is Saturday Morning now,

(well, it was when I wrote this)

I shall write these words

(and maybe more)

upon high ground,

as it is quite dangerous

writing upon the shore,

due to the rain and the wind,

that is there,

and the possibility

of opening Death’s door

and walking through;

if the tide should rise above my head,

I would have to stop writing,

and start being dead.

#NationalPoetryDay

Every day is a writing day

for me;

whether it be a day

when any writing gets done

or not

Is another thing,

and why I write my prose

in poetry format

is anyone’s guess.

Yes, I know

it confuses the reader;

but,

it also confuses

this already considerably confused

writer, too.

Give me a prompt

Give me a prompt,

or a subject to write to,

and I’ll write you a poem –

or, at least, I will try to;

I might not succeed

in penning a classic;

but, I’ll give it my best

‘Park & Ride’

to the island Jurassic –

whatever that means.

Sunday, not a poetry day?

I tried to write a poem,

something, anything;

but, nothing could I write;

so, I went for a walk instead,

to consider the nothingness

in my head.

Less is More? (more or less, that is).

I have written less today,

than I did yesterday;

hence my surge in popularity

today.

Should I continue the trend,

or amend my writing

to allow peaks and troughs?

If I continue to write less,

I confess I would be non-plussed

if my stock was still to rise;

I would have to surmise

that if I wrote nothing at all, ever,

I could be famous.

Or infamous…

Whatever.

Saturday Morning’s Alright For Writing.

Saturday Morning,

like every other morning,

is a good time for writing;

and, seeing as how

it is Saturday Morning now,

(well, it was when I wrote this)

I shall write these words,

and maybe more,

upon high ground,

as it is quite dangerous

writing upon the shore,

due to the rain and the wind,

that is there,

and the possibility

of opening Death’s door

and walking through;

for, if the tide should rise above my head,

I would have to stop writing,

and start being dead.

I used to write…

I used to right

a thousand wrongs

in every single one

of my songs

And now I write

about what I write,

or writ, or wrote;

how every word,

is, or was,

of little note.

I was gifted a pen

I was gifted a pen,

and some paper,

new boots, some mud,

a scraper;

all the things

that I would need

if I were to write,

within,

and upon,

the countryside,

indeed.