Gillian Commerford Poems
|122.||Everything Was Swept Away||6/1/2013|
|124.||Waiting To Be Eaten||11/15/2012|
|127.||Losing My Mind||11/2/2013|
|128.||A Very Short Poem About Trees||5/6/2014|
|132.||I Although Not Beautiful||8/25/2013|
|133.||Don'T Be A Poet||11/17/2012|
Don'T Be A Poet
I told my mother:
'I want to be a poet'.
She said: 'There's no money in it'.
I never was much interested
in making money.
I knew the need to feed my soul.
I knew that money could keep me fed and clothed
but poetry would make me whole.
Our lives stutter
beneath the stammering of tongues
of blood and bone and muscle
and we burden ourselves
that in the end
don't really matter