(28th October 1971 / Glasgow, Scotland)

Supposéd Poet

I’m supposed to be a poet
But the words come so slow it
Just puts me to shame.
Should I give up this game
And just stay in my bed?
Or try crochet instead?
Someone wake up my muse –
She keeps missing her cues
And my pen’s full of ink
And I’m left on the brink
In a torturous fight
With a page that’s too white.

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 1 votes ) 4

Comments (4)

We've all been there. But you take it and inject a twist of humour. Finely done Mr Birss.
I've felt that way at times. Good poem. I read you other latest poem 'If I were you' and I thought the last line in that was a big surprise. Take care. Sincerely, Connie Webb
I've just had the pleasure of reading some of your work, and I think your muse is on fine form. Hugs Anna xxx
this seems gurtful to me: I know how it is to feel full of feelings inside, and wanting to write but to not be able to do it in that moment, the words just don't come... a great subject to write upon and you've done a great job! ~~Elya Thorn~~