Imagining myself to be a poet
Baby cradled in one arm
I wait for a flash of inspiration
Words seem to peel off my other arm
In strips, skin curling upwards,
Turning into crisps
My toddler picks one up and
eats it – Mummy, I want some
more, more!
All hope of an idea vanishes.
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian
Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.
View all posts by The Silly-Savvy Salopian