1. The Listeners
Famous Poem
‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
Creativity comes in a variety of forms. Many people think of writing and artwork as the main ways to show creativity, but there are many others. Creating something is a powerful form of self-expression, and it can impact other people. The inspiration to create can be found anywhere. It can be found in the beauty of nature, the relationships that surround us, or the hurt that is within us. When we allow the creative side of our brain to take over, we never know the beauty that will come from it.
Famous Poem
‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:
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Analysis of Form and Technique
If I could take a brush and paint the mountains and the moors,
I would splash the hillsides yellow and cover them in gorse.
I'd take the finest needle and the darkest thread of green
And sew a line of bracken along the landscape. In-between
There is more to poetry
Than rhythm and rhyme.
It's a window to our souls,
Undiminished by time.
Beautiful poem! Sometimes I question myself and if I have any business writing poems. Somehow I can see so much talent and beauty in other people's creation but fail to see the beauty in...
Inspiration comes and goes.
Sometimes it ebbs, sometimes it flows.
There is no rhyme or rhythm here.
Sometimes it's far, sometimes it's near.
This ink, it runs.
This paper is stained
Tears run free as
I'm stuck in a daze.
A piece of colored paper,
with no dialogue or animation,
can strike a drawer's
or writer's utter fascination.
Life is full of regrets. Well lets say I was born to face all these horrible things and make all these mistakes but even today the question is why don't we get caution signs so we can know...
A poem's but a whisper
That lingers on the breeze.
A few unspoken words
Appear like falling leaves.
I see your star, it's shining bright
amongst the others of the night,
a sight so blessed, as by my eye
your soul now rests in symmetry.
That's a real compliment from you, who writes so well, thank you. Best wishes, Ann
What have you seen in your hundred years?
If asked, what would you say,
Of the dozen families that lived in your walls,
Of the hundreds of children at play?
Thank you! So very glad you enjoyed it. As a former realtor, I have walked in many an old house, and always enjoy stopping to listen to the silent stories the houses tell.....they are quite...
Life is a work of art,
something you paint or write with your heart,
taking care to make every part
a symphony of colors or words
With the symbolic figures in the poem, I have learned that you need to mold life in the way you need it to be in order to live it right.
She never liked to read,
Because she was always in her own head.
So she wrote of all the things she knew,
And made her own stories instead.
It just comes naturally to me,
I confess.
Writing a verse
is like taking my next breath.
Lately, I have really struggled to write,
I think of an idea, but I think "no, not tonight."
I try and I try, but I can't seem to find my rhyme,
I don't have the motivation, and I don't have the time.
I'm sure a lot of us can relate to this poem. We all have moments when the words just won't flow. Well done putting it into a poem. Best wishes, Ann
I want to write a poem, but I don't know where to start.
Should it be an ode to love and come straight from the heart?
Or should it wax lyrical of sky and moon and stars,
There is an old fella out at Buck Creek
He's a little hard of hearing, so be loud when you speak
He's lived many years and has seen many things
He's as good as an angel but without the wings
I have no name
Until you name me.
I have no form
Until you shape me.
It is an early morning
I need an island in the sea,
Away from you, away from me,
Beyond the waves, beyond the wind,
I love the personal longing for that special place. John
Music is poetry,
An expression of the heart.
I can feel it in me when the music starts.
My blood is flowing,
Though my passion for poetry may be stronger than steel,
It symbolizes a vulnerable extension of me I don't usually reveal.
Read with care while you dissect every rhyme.
My existence is dependent on every poetic line.