Jots and Scribbles

I must risk writing badly
If I am to write at all
But what if nothing comes?
No ideas big or small
No dragons breathing fire
Or knights in suits of steel
No aliens or monsters
No queens or spinning wheels
To make a story out of nothing
can seem an impossible feat
How to coax a tale from thin air?
Perhaps it’s time to admit defeat?
Yet did you just imagine
the very things that I wrote out?
Perhaps the place to start
are jots and scribbles without doubt
Perhaps that’s where the story
grows in strength as it unfurls
Leaning into imagination
as creativity twists and twirls
Perhaps there is a magic
in learning to let go
In writing without thought
until a trickle becomes a flow
Until a rhyme begins to tickle
coalescing centre stage
What seemed impossible mere moments ago
now clear upon the page

Photo by Mike on

This is the magic of writing for me: some days I sit down with no idea what to write, but if I can let go of the little voice that’s telling me I may as well give up and just take the tiny, gargantuan step of putting fingers to keys, a poem can surprise me by materialising into existence, like this one did.

I wonder where they come from. Any ideas?

12 thoughts on “Jots and Scribbles

  1. I actually think that we are simply radio receivers, and ideas are the radio waves of the universe. Sometimes we just tune in, and what comes out is us capturing the waves as they pass us by. Okay I’ll stop woo-wooing now.

    Liked by 2 people

    • I love a bit of woo woo. This idea makes sense to me, I write best in the early hours of the morning and I think this is because I’m not distracted by the noise of the world and I’m able to catch a wave or two.

      Thanks for your comment Stuart.


  2. “Until a rhyme becomes a tickle “…. that’s a great line. I think creative writing flows from a universal energy that we could all tap into if only we could just allow it to flow. I guess the quiet early hours of the morning help that process. You are well and truly tuned into that energy Rae.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I wonder where poems come from too! It doesn’t feel like “I” write my poetry. It feels like they are communicated to me…by something more beautiful, powerful, and loving than I am. Or maybe some larger thing which I am only a part of…

    Not sure where they come from, but it feels sacred to me.

    Liked by 1 person

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