Voice - Poem by Sandra Osborne
Looks like I'm stuck
with what’s called by some,
my own, poetic “voice”.
But I’d love to write
like Keats, or Cummins,
or to be read as wide as Frost.
I’d love be as bold as Plath
or even half as known.
But I’m trapped inside
these words and forms, some flow,
some rhyming scheme.
And all to try and shout and scream,
so loud, but softly say:
Please listen to my little voice
I know it’s here to stay.
Comments about Voice by Sandra Osborne
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Read poems about / on: love
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl