Hey there, fellow word-lovers! Let’s be honest: we’ve all been there. Staring at a blank page, waiting for that golden, perfect idea to float down from the heavens. We think of writing—especially poetry—as this quiet, intensely cerebral activity. We sit still, we think hard, and we wait for the muse to show up.
But I want to challenge that today. I want to argue that the single biggest hurdle standing between you and your next amazing poem isn’t a lack of talent; it’s the simple, physical distance between your brilliant brain and the actual page.
Stop Waiting: Poetry Starts When You Stand Up
I truly believe that great poetry isn’t a noun; it’s a verb.
Think about it. When you’re slumped over a desk, you’re mostly relying on memory and abstract thought. But when you move—when you step outside, when you walk, when you deliberately engage your body in the world—everything shifts.
Your perspective tilts, your senses sharpen (that faint smell of rain, the grit under your shoe), and you gather the messy, raw, essential material that poems are actually made of.
Inspiration is not a magical fairy dust you wait for; it’s the byproduct of action. Every time you stand up, step out, and actively gather data, you are literally doing poetry. You’re transforming the world from a passive picture into an active verb.
The Exercise: Red Light, Green Light
Today, let’s stop thinking about poetry and start doing it with a simple, movement-based exercise designed to shock your senses back to life. I’m calling it “Red Light, Green Light.”
This is designed to break up your routine and absolutely force your attention onto the immediate, incredible reality around you.
- The Action Plan (15 Minutes of Poetry)
- The Commitment: Decide on a 15-minute window right now. Put on comfortable shoes.
- The Movement: Start walking (that’s the Green Light!). This isn’t a stroll for exercise; this is a data-gathering mission.
The Writing Task
When you stop, don’t look around for something “poetic.” Instead, focus your attention on the object closest to your left hand. It could be a rusted fire hydrant, a faded blue recycling bin, a patch of weeds, or a neon sign casting a sickly glow.
Quickly write down the ten words that best describe that object.
- Don’t worry about complete sentences.
- Don’t try to make it sound good or poetic.
- Do focus on hyper-specific sensory details.
The Goal: Seeing Beyond the Label
The key here is training yourself to see beyond the label. A poet doesn’t see a “garbage can,” they see: “sun-burned plastic,” “hollow,” ” bulging,” “slumped,” “forgotten,” “a black hole,” “a silent witness.”
This small act of attention shifts the object from a generic placeholder into a specific, tangible, poem-ready thing. This is how we build the vocabulary of a genuine poem.
Your Next Step: Keep Moving!
When you get back inside, you don’t even have to start a new poem. You’ve just collected ten vibrant, sensory words. Try stitching those words together into a few lines or even sprinkling them into a poem you were struggling to finish. I bet they breathe new life into your work! So, the next time you feel that blank-page dread, Reach for your shoes.
I’d love to hear what you discovered on your walk. And tell me, what other simple, movement-based creative exercises can you think of doing? Let’s keep this conversation moving! Share your ideas below.
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