A Poet's Confession. Comical poem by Angela Lansbury

 

Last night I wrote a poem

For all my fellow poets

Who love to write about themselves

And shamelessly, proudly show it

Not satisfied to fill the page

They -  we, want to prance about the stage

Create a world of illusions

About their, our, private delusions

And my dearest friend Christine

Writes of things others haven't seen.

I dream I'll make lots of money

To replace teeth lost to chocolates and honey

I don't write of love, embarrassed

To admit I'm no longer harassed

By men who are well past eighty

Bothered by troubles more weighty

Those growing older still remember

The distant past like glowing embers

Embellished with relish by rhythm and rhyme

Repeated, like a chorus, all the time

And so I must conclude

I don't use words which are rude

I'm sure you appreciate, it's too late,

For that, my dearest fellow, mellow poets.

Last night I wrote a poem

I could write, and talk, all night

I no longer earn a wage

They'll soon make me leave the stage

I'm sure you understand

So please give me a big hand

Please look at my latest book

It costs nothing to look 

And then I shall look at yours

So we'll enjoy mutual applause.

-ends-

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