I open up my little brain
To rummage for ideas,
But all the shelves are empty:
It’s the worst of writers’ fears!
There are cobwebs in the corners,
And balls of tumbleweed,
But simply no creative thoughts –
The one thing that I need!
Why is it that I find my muse
In heartbreak, grief and sadder news?
In melancholic reflection,
In festering fears and rejection?
Perhaps because I’ve naught to lose
In poems that reveal my blues,
And at my deepest, darkest lows
I find relief in rhyme and prose;
Cathartic creativity
Releases pain and sets me free.
Emma Hyde, age 26, 04/01/2017
Poem a picture painted with words;
Artwork a symphony of harmonic colour;
Music melodious poetry.
Emma H, age 26, 03/08/2017
I’m feeling uncreative,
My mind has drawn a blank,
The gears have ceased their grinding;
They need a thorough crank.
I cannot find my rhythm,
My wanton words don’t rhyme,
My stanzas are unruly,
I struggle with each line.
Once upon a time, when I was a little girl,
Splashes of colour painted over the world,
With lands and people of my own creation,
Swept up in a surge of imagination.
