This is the response that came from me after reading the finalists for the Edwin Morgan Poetry Prize. I read some of those poems, including the winner, and scratched my head completely lost to what any of them were about or what made them finalists. It’s all like a foreign language to me, indecipherable.
‘I’ll never be a Poet or Writer of any consequence’
The thought hits while I’m sorting the washing
It’s all gobble-de-gook to me!
Like a shard falling from the hosts above, the dagger strikes;
I’ll never be a Poet, or Writer, of any consequence!
Stop trying for perfection, prizes, publication, recognition, and respect
Just like my birth parents, they ain’t coming!
I will remain unloved and unwanted
by the family I do not belong too
I should know my place and stay in it.
I don’t think I can do that.
The dryer buzzer jars me from my philosophical wanderings
I can fold a mean t-shirt!