Poet

Words are always
on my tongue.
Ink is specked on
my fingers like blood.
My thoughts tumble
without ever stopping.
My friends are
fictional and different.
I am silent as a mouse so
my words land on the page.
Words are always
ready to be used.
Because I'm a poet
and I need to show it.

Reviews

[Leigh]

Great thought and sentiment and so true - thanks

[Mr Dunne Poetry]

A great ode to our art :)

[b.platte]

Ah, so refreshing reading a nice, short poem about something real and yet not about love or sadness. I loved how you said that the words are specked on your fingers like blood. It gave the reader a sense of how you view being a writer.

When I used to write on paper, versus the on the computer, I would always have ink on my fingers and hands. All a part of writing, though. It made me feel like a part of my work was always with me.

I'm glad I found this :) Very nice piece.

[Sarah W. French]

Thank you so much.

[MachinaWriter]

Simple yet very well written. Good imagery. Not sure how I feel about the last line though. The "I'm a poet and I need to show it" feels like a little kid's rhyme and it doesn't fit well with the rest of the poem. But that's just me.

I really liked the part of ink being specked on the fingers like blood and especially the silent as a mouse part. Both created strong images. All in all, good work, eager to see some more. ^^

[Eloha]

I loved this! What an articulate tribute to what we do naturally, constantly and with the love of our form of art !