Death of a Poet

Kevin Michael Bloor

One day at dawn a poet rose

And thought he'd try his hand at prose

To poet pals he met at park

He said, "That's how I'll make my mark!"


Loquacious lad like Marcel Proust

His brevity just needed boost!

As poet, he'd been stuck in mud

Like lotus bloom bound up in bud


He longed to be verbose in verse

But deep inside his heart did nurse

A need to nurture novel long

So sure that stanzas suited song


Or sentimental, love-filled line

While he was craving stronger wine

That flowed effusively like stream

A sea of endless words - his dream!


  • Author: Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: February 5th, 2016 11:12
  • Comment from author about the poem: I suppose this is a poem about a poet experiencing a crisis of faith about his calling to be a poet, probably wondering if he isn't, after all, meant to try his hand at prose...
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 65
  • User favorite of this poem: Kevin Michael Bloor.


  • Seeker

    My story is just the opposite I started with prose and after years of frustration I realized my forte, if I have one, is the rhyme. Nice poem it captures the spirit of one trying to decide. But doesn't the muse decide? Excellent work!!

    • Kevin Michael Bloor

      Thank you seeker! I appreciate your feedback and comments. By the way, I will never abandon rhyme, just how I felt on the day.😉

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