It’s senseless stuff I write; I know it!
(Don’t be so quick though to agree)
It seems I’ll no more be a poet;
some other course is set for me.
It’s for the youthful, starry creatures:
poetry’s sweet sacred song.
Poets past it, just like preachers
to the desk drawer they belong.
I never did pen for a living;
I have a day job; make that two!
If critics had been more forgiving,
if they had taken kinder view.
I’d rise today with birdsong singing,
reel off my rhymes, would not relent
to sound of critics’ church bells ringing
reminding me I should repent!
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Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 19th, 2020 02:12
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 44
- User favorite of this poem: Accidental Poet.
Offline)
Comments4
Love it.
Many thanks 😁
To a poet, it makes perfect sense. You knocked it out of the park Kevin.
Thanks, AP. Glad you can relate. I read your 'about you' info. It seems we're the same age. Also, you mention your first love. I started penning poems about my first love, Lorraine, after we reunited after a lifetime apart. So I suppose you can say that she's my muse. Again, thanks for taking the time. I'll check out some of your own poems.😉
No need to repent Kevin your words do you more than justice to us all.
Andy
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