Tag Archives: Writer’s Block

Sheer Will Can Only Go So Far

Tonight I have no topics

To write a poem about…

But will that stop me? Never!

I’m shocked you’d ever doubt!

No force of man or nature

Can stop me writing junk.

As big tech corporations say:

“It’s a feature, not a funk.”

In fact, when I’m inspired

I might settle for one stanza

About something that sounds funny

Like Swaziland or Lufthansa.

But today, despite my lack

Of anything resembling a point

I wrote a lengthy poem

And if you don’t like it, suck my groint.

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Weirdness Is Genetic

This one takes sone explanation.

‘Twas late and I lacked imagination

So I asked “what to write? The words just won’t come!

My parents said “Karma or Fritos.”

Now you know where I get it from.

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What’s Ablution Anyway?

So I had writer’s block again.

To Google I was bound.

I searched for poetry topics

And here is what I found:

“Abandoned, ablution, acrostic, adultery, affliction, Africa, aggravation, aggression.”

I don’t have a meaningful poem today

But that isn’t terribly bad.

I could have written about aggressive adulterous ablution

But would you be happier if I had?

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When You Want To Complain But You Have Writer’s Block

The world is really beautiful

But doesn’t have enough

Cheese-based lukewarm beverages

(And generally lukewarm-cheese stuff).

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A Constipated Mind

‘Twas the night before Christmas

And things were amiss.

A poet was blocked up

And so he wrote this.

But you’ve all got presents

And family and junk,

So I hope you’ll forgive me

This holiday funk.

And if you lack junk,

Family, and gifts,

Let’s hope that next year

Your luck favorably shifts.

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Real Life With Travis T.

I watched a football game today,

Played a concert with my friends,

And changed the oil in my truck,

And with that this poem ends.

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Maybe Tomorrow I’ll Have A Topic

Some days before going to bed

A little voice speaks in your head:

“Write something funny

“Without sex, dogs, or money,”

And so you write limericks instead.

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The Slump

A slump is a chump

Whose throat has a lump,

As does its cerebral cortex.

It will make you it’s chow.

I’m stuck in one now.

(Either that or a temporal vortex).

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I’m Just That Uninspired

I thought about it.

Then I thought and thought some more,

Yet I still wrote this.

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Nothing Here

The inner critic smiled
as I erased another line.
“You won’t write a poem about that!”
I heard the invisible @€#*~}! whine.

So instead I wrote this poem
Inspired by my critic.
Sometimes you have to do that stuff,
Even if you become arthritic.

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