For the Pensive Poet Contest of Constance La France "Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, sober steadfast, and demure, all in a robe of darkest grain, flowing with majestic train." John Milton The pensive poet writes deep from his soul. Downstairs into a room he will descend. To write in secret stillness is his goal. A pen has he with a magic feathered end. It is the tool to take away his pain, used by him when disappointment surges. Reflections might appear as sad refrains. Then such wistful poetry emerges. The feather on the pen can come, then go depending on the poet’s need to bleed the pondering that from his pen can flow, but when he’s spent, his notions all recede. The feather vanishes; he leaves his room till thoughts profound regrow the magic plume.
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
