For Unto Us a Poet is Born

And he shall be called Barry
Which is a made up name
And means nothing at all
Except to him and his doting parents.
You shall find him lying in bed
Each morning in angst
Trying to pen the ultimate truth
Fighting his creative constipation
Wrapped in discarded writings
With only an ageing mongrel for company
Wallowing in selfpity
Waiting for a spiritual visitation.
Wise men will not seek him
They are following other stars
Taking with them celebrity hand-outs
Money, women and fast cars.

National Curriculum Kid

...

At 6 I mastered metaphors
Similes to follow
Defining all before me
The Syntax I shall swallow.

...

My Mum spoke to me
I listened to the spiel
Perhaps one day I'll learn the words
To tell her how I feel.

Leave the Poetry to Me

A working housewife with two jobs, two kids
And one mortgage is married to
An unemployed thinking man who none
The less still retains a sense of duty

...

When lost for words
He Sat
And Stared
From his favourite chair,
Wishing away all the terrible emptiness
In his head
And looking earnestly to his pen, would will
The ink to run instead

...