I Confess of Poetry straight from the Heart,
So filled with Love and all it's drapery.
The Routine fare inked down the Centuries,
All Candyfloss and Perfumed Velvet prose.
Its all there in Words that Shame or Amuse,
To keep within a locked Silk laden Box,
Or Cast in the Grate for flames to consume.
Would you see my draft of seething Old Wounds?
The furtive long days locked in the Shadows?
Spewing out the Heart and all it's Secrets?
The Soul laid bare for the 'Daws to Peck at' ?
And what ! would your thoughts be to such folly,
Is he a Man of Invaluable worth,
Or a Crazy Lovelorn Sipid old Fool ?
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Author:
Kevin Hulme (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 26th, 2026 19:49
- Category: Love
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments4
A poem of poetry and the poet that exposes themselves, striping naked in front of all. Lovely
Thank you. Good that you read it.
You are most welcome
I'm not going to subject you to another of my rants on love poetry, or for that matter on poems about poetry.....😇
And I've just bought a Frilly Shirt and Quill for a Pen as well.
Wot about a sweet smelling flower to hold under your nose and a floppy velvet hat?
Weak to satisfy yourself with half measures - full commitment should be the standard you aspire to.
Kevin, this balances ornate language with real doubt. The opening nod to centuries of routine fare sets the stage, but the heart of it lies in those “seething Old Wounds.” Ending on “Or a Crazy Lovelorn Sipid old Fool ?” keeps it human and unsettled. Thoughtful piece. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
A Piece on 'Unrequited Love'. The Painful kind.
Thank you for your Comments and Reading.
Superb
As always: Thank you.
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