I'm One of Those Writers Who Doesn't Know How To Spell
I’m one of those writers who doesn’t know how to spell.
One of those sunglassed men – so cool – who can’t stop shaking.
One of those beauties with a smiling face,
When a dropp of opera and a few waves of coffee,
Bring me near my dreams.
Hope is brought on by negative circumstances:
Something that didn’t happen.
Relaxation is found in t.v.,
Where everything is a count-down to oblivion.
Now I’m waiting for my lovely dad to come home,
He has some preparing of vegetables to do.
I’ll make sure he won’t notice I was crying,
Or atleast I was trying to.
Copyright Mark Pollins 2007
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Comments about this poem (I'm One of Those Writers Who Doesn't Know How To Spell by Mark Pollins )
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Edgar Allan Poe
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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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(January 17, 1914 – August 28, 1993)
(17 June 1867 – 2 September 1922)
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- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Barbie Doll, Marge Piercy
- A Ritual To Read To Each Other, William Stafford
- Be Kind, Charles Bukowski
- The Landlady, Margaret Atwood
- All You Who Sleep Tonight, Vikram Seth
- Tonight I can write the saddest lines, Pablo Neruda
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Black on White and briefly Red, Diane Hine