The penniless poet.

The impoverished poet
had no words to give,
his pockets were empty,
his cupboard laid bare,
empty was the trolley
that had no wheels,
his thoughts weren’t
going anywhere,
the theatre abandoned,
the final curtain,
the encore dead,
the seats long gone,
no words to speak of,
but a sentence of sorts.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

This is like the poet reciting to an empty house because of Covid.
But then even a full house to listen to us does not pay rent.
j.

[andrew mitchell]

I’m struggling to create anything decent of late, really scrapping the bottom of the barrel more so than at any other time. I think I’m the poet with empty pockets. Thanks for your words J.