Am I a Poet?
Am I a poet?
How could that be?
For when my mouth opens
I wish I could sow it.
The words that I say don't say what I will
They sputter and spill out my flimsy bill.
Of technique I know nothing
And my spelling's not something.
Sure, I can rhyme. . .from time to time.
Perhaps, does that a poet make me?
Maybe.
I paint with the brush and the world seems devine!
I paint with the pen and it's not so fine.
I labor to write what my head holds so tight.
I try and try
Only to cry and cry
That the words on my page don't measure up tall,
But are really just
nothing
at
all.
This poem is about:
Me
Guide that inspired this poem: