Angela Douglas Poet Rhyme

Nom De Plume

I feel the futility 
after decades
of my fingers flitting
like dragonflies
over the keys 
my once hopeful heart 
shriveled and shrunken 
as a plum into a prune 
Shakespeare and Miller
Marlowe and Pinter
will never again 
pick up the plume
to pen another  
poem or play
yet they live on today
while my words 
wither in the womb
Stillborn they are silently
whisked away unread
without a funeral 
to the tomb

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Gary Radice October 7, 2022 at 4:46 AM This is an excellent write Angela. I often wonder how some of the poems we were force fed at school were deemed to be the most outstanding in their field. I've read better here at PS. (My thoughts only of course) Cheers - Gary

Chris Conn October 7, 2022 at 12:03 AM There's nothing wrong with you that a million dollars won't fix.