Dead On My Feet

Poem By Shaun Cronick

Has one tried writing a poem,
After work's long demanding day.
Its words struggle to flow,
With typo's getting in the way.

Eventually a new poem revealed,
Poetry so grammatically neat.
A fluke that I can still spell,
After being dead on my feet.

Comments about Dead On My Feet

Lodigiana thanks for your comment and it's good to know I'm not the only solitary soul. That's life and onwards and upwards, unless you're climbing the South Face of the Matterhorn...then s o d that. Thanks again and I wish you well. Shaun.x.
Dominic thanks for your comment and early lockdown did help, sort of ish. It for me was too much time and I had to pull away for fear of burning out. The poetry hamster eternally on the poetry wheel and all that. Then I discovered s e x, drugs and rock and roll. Thanks again and take care.
Thank you Rose Marie for your kind comment and I might add, how right you are. Thanks again and take care.
I know the feeling exactly and rejoice that even after the hardest of days inspiration was still there! Nicely done! Lodigiana x
I know that feeling. Although, during the prolonged lockdown period, writing poetry provided me with something positive to do. Nevertheless, since I'm now starting to write less poetry, I now feel a lot better. Sometimes less is definitely more. Anyway, I digress. It's a dead on one's feet, but never defeated inspired five from me!


Rating Card

5,0 out of 5
3 total ratings

Other poems of CRONICK

Inspire Me

Drop a dream into the water,
In a moment it is gone.
But there are many ripples,
Circling on and on....

A Birch In A Storm

A tall white Birch reared its stately form,
High in the path of the oncoming storm.
Its long, lacy leaves, in sad disarray,
Tangled and knotted with each swing and sway.

In A Poet's Book

In a poet's book,
Poetry is king.
Poems of hope,
Are revealed within

Enchantress...Trilogy Of Evil Part 3

Miss Goody Two Shoes.
No, not that one teen paedophile slicing slaughterhouse.
She's out of the country.
She's teamed up with The Lady Killer.

Memories

The shouts of children playing,
Bring back my happy youth.
To recall the time I was ten,
And lost a good front tooth.

This Magic Dream

I gift to you,
A soothing dream.
A dream to cherish,
A dream to gleam.