Little Ol' Me

I wish I could write like those others before me, Byron and Shelley and old Edgar Poe Flowery phrases Thy love unforgetting, chasing a raven as ink tends to flow Follow a sidewalk in Silverstein footsteps, sit neath a tree as the apples appear Doth O’ my feelings O’er Midsummer stanzas Dream thee melodic as words of Shakespeare Maybe some thoughts in a past tense creation, deeper in meaning like Sylvia Plath Or Robert Frost and the nature he touches, meandering off through the trees down a path Emily Dickinson, aprons and daisies, words overflowing the tea kettle rim And let’s not forget “The man”, Leonard Cohen, what I would give if I could write like him Neruda, Longfellow, Kipling and cummings so many thoughts in their own point of view Taking our minds to assorted locations every piece speaks of something quite new So many poets who weave inspiration, any or all I can just hope to be But here I am just writing my verses, I guess I am stuck being little ol’ me ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ And here’s a few more, some you might know Who inspire all when their ink it does flow Charmaine, Paloma, Heidi and Dee Victor and Daniel Catie, Laniey Holly, Alexis, Mystic and Rick Maurice, The Seeker Eve and Tim Smith Arthur and Freddie James, Jo and Jan Nette, Laura Loo Broken Wings, San And so many others I’ve met on this site Who each day inspire this poet to write If I have forgotten anyone, I apologize. I am still quite new here.