Life Of A Modern Poet Poem by David Whittingham

You must finish,
Ten poems,
By the end of the day,
And only then,
You’ll be a real writer,
Meeting deadlines,
Patronising guest,
At swanky parties,
Sharing your all with the entire world,
Whether you like it or not.
Though no matter what.
You must finish,
Ten poems,
By the end of the day.

The phone call from my agent ends,
I’m all alone,
In the street, alone with the pigeons,
With a drunk looking at me funny,
And with rain threatening,
I still have to work,
Whatever the weather,
Because,
You must finish,
Ten poems,
By the end of the day.

The sun comes out,
Though that’s no inspiration,
Accept about daffodils,
Dappled in the sun light,
I think someone’s done that before,
And despite my deadline,
I must not plagiarise,
Because,
You must finish,
Ten poems,
By the end of the day.

The people pass in the street,
Of all shapes and sizes
Overweight, thin, ugly, beautiful,
Gay, straight, bi,
Our strength is in the difference,
I can’t stop long though,
Because
You must finish,
Ten poems,
By the end of the day.

The sirens go off,
On that clear say,
Silent since the old days,
War is coming,
The end of all things,
Finally.
The good, the bad and the ugly stare,
Because the end is near,


You must finish,
Ten poems,
By the end of the day.

WWIII
Death toll 5000000