EVERYDAY POET:

Stanzas, verses, sonnets, sentences, words, odes & a whole lot more,

Cooking, pots, pans, making beds, the laundry & mopping dirty floor,

Who the hell am I, everyday housewife or the budding frustrated poet?

Writing secretly & putting away, the words, the poetry, I hide & stow it.

Stashed away with the dirty washing, all my scribblings & errant words,

Whilst playing wife & mother, separating the whey from the daily curds.

Washing dirty dishes, weaving willing rhymes & degutting dinner´s fishes,

Wanting to be rather inking long lost desires & inflamed sensuous wishes,

Instead of upon kitchen stool, I´d rather be sitting besides cool icy streams,

Prefer to be quilling a million romantic reams & quaffing blood red rosy wine,

Escaping the banal, the mundane & the hoover´s mocking demanding whine.