Glen Martin Fitch
Yes, beauty's great,
before some vista vast,
I sense the need to pee.
I fear I'll fall
when truth makes sense to me.
If image matches meaning,
metaphor is born.
Grand art can me me high,
although my stomach sinks.
'Damn, how can I compete? '
The Muse can shout so,
I forget to eat.
A simile can sting inside.
I know a poem is close
when zombie eyed at night
and panther pace by day
aglow with sweat.
I want to pen down
and yet I'd rather
mop the floors again
It's not when planets line up
I'm most productive
when I'm tired and bored.
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Comments about this poem (IT'S PHYSICAL by Glen Martin Fitch )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
Edward Kofi Louis
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(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Alfred Lord Tennyson
(6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892)
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