Overtaxing the brain. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

He has poems scribbled on paper of every hue

Poems he’d written, nay, scratched on foolscap margins

Poems he’d typed and printed then put on the back burner

Clever poems, short poems, even stupid poems

Luckily the poems did not know that

Then again who knows?

Those monsters come to haunt him in the dark of night.

As he awakens to the fresh scent of dawn

Poetic thoughts now long gone leave him blank faced

He speaks to no one but himself, the loudest response his echo

Entering the kitchen wearily scratching his head

God is in her element humming away to herself

Kneading dough for early morning bake.

© Chris Black. March 2019

#Poetry #amwriting