Simple // One

The poetry of others is not mine:
read, assimilated and digested
it is that foreign country of times past.
Their verses shimmer, tantalising coins
inside stone fountains raining forth wisdom;
acid rain eroding, confidence gone.

I come late to this jamboree, grasping
baggage, pitted with footprints, refusals
stamped between eyeballs: too simplistic, no.
You cannot join our party: name’s not down
that attitude’s a joke, go rhyme elsewhere;
playing a young woman’s game here, sweetheart.


Written by Internet of Words

Published Writer, 53-ish / Still European / Trauma Survivor / Photos / Exercise / Bisexual / Chaotic Good / HUMAN SPORK / Mental Health / Daily Twitter Short Story / @ProperBard in Residence, My House / Shortlisted & Published Author / Original poems/fiction © IoW 2020