Long ago, I used to write poetry. (I think I may have posted some on here at some point.) My first published work was actually a poem which was accepted by a highly respected intellectual magazine. I was just 13 years old an I was sure I was going to make a living as a poet. Yeah, still waiting for that to happen.

I haven’t written anything for a while, but yesterday, I suddenly did. The main probelm with poetry is that I am not a very good judge of my own work so in a moment you may be wishing that I still hadn’t written anything for a long time.

Anyway, here is my latest poem for your enjoyment. Or not. I does not yet have a title. Feel free to tell me how terrible it is.

Crow, sleek and black,
watching my breakfast
from the windowsill.
Dark eyes. Cold regard.
It heckles me
in some obscure
eastern European language.
Midnight caller.


2 thoughts on “Poetry

  1. Reblogged this on Replaygiarism and commented:
    I love the heckle line in this poem almost as much as I love crows (and that is an indescribable amount). It’s a great poem that describes much and leaves the rest to the reader’s imagination.

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