A Poetess

A poetess I long to be

with fame and lauds perpetually

as I write whilst sipping tea

A poetess I long to be

though it seems I lack the clarity

and yet perhaps eventually

A poetess I shall too be

with fame and lauds perpetually

 

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Angst

The dictionary

says ‘angst’ is “gloomy”

and, “a feeling of general anxiety and depression”.

Most of the poetry I like

is driven and fueled by angst

fraught with pain

and deep introspection.

I have no angst.

I am a mostly happy person

content

or at least resigned

to my small lot.

My aspirations

are better flowers

and to maybe paint the bedroom.

My dreams

tend to be about weather stripping.

My drive

takes me to the lumber yard

for concrete blocks to build a flower bed.

I am angst-less.

Unless it is possible to have angst about angst?

Thus I flounder

sinking

in a confusion

of ordinary-ness.

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