Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 4
Blessed with the site
The judges have a quest
Select the best, abjure the rest
These Gods from distant lands
Hold in their hands the ability
To create stars
Raise us to the sky
Destroy our dreams
(Or so it seems)
Am I a Queen?
A beggar?
A fly by night?
Some say “You’re clever,”
Some say you should never pick up a pen
Never again
Until you’ve learned
Grammatical correctness, directness
Earned those stars
They wear their alien skins tight and clingy
Using tactical diversions to reproduce
Verbal lemon phrases, stings
Call it poetical licence
Layered with doggerel and incognisance
Some say, “Hurrah, you’ve got it right
Nearly, well... almost... quite,”
Some are elusive, comments smooth like silk
Feline and empathic
Almost telepathic
What the heck
Give them the milk
At least some of us care
That someone, somewhere
Always gets it in the neck
Written by
Sheila Haskins  F/Suffolk England
(F/Suffolk England)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems