Dunno how it ever came to be poetry
‘Cos this was always something I didn’t like
But now
As I write some more
Gain something of a flair
Happy out to drink coffee
Sit it out in my brother’s chair
I do like the likes of Heaney
‘Cos in fairness to the man
He went with it
He ran… and ran
Or wrote rather
My God
If only he were my father
Then I could learn a thing or two
I’ve been thinking some more
And maybe I should shut the literary door
For a time
And listen to what other
More plaudited poets have to say
I mean
They made it for a reason
Good on them
It’s a Friday night and I’m starting to grow bored
With it all
I know what this means
It means the OCD is alleviating
Leaving me with a task oh so tall
To fill the time spent ruminating
Dreading everything & anything
About the place
It’s not a God damn race
After all
And if I fall
It’s like I said before
I simply fall
Less about me
More about finding a poet laureate
Who manages to fill me with respect
Some glee even
I dunno
His name might be Heaney
Or it might just be that ‘poet’ over the road
Name’s Stevie