Death of a Poet

death of a poet

On the 11.37 with Sylvia Plath

On the 11.37 with Sylvia Plath

The man shouting at his phone
On the 11.37 to Marylebone,
These are not my words.

My words – Notes from Ariel – drown
In his life of importance and
Deadlines set to fail him.

Unaware, Sylvia sings her Morning Song,
Its rhythm missing my heart,
Deflected in monotone drum beats.

High Wycombe brings silence.
A chance to ride the countryside,
Contemplating “Poppies in July”.

These are my words.

© Davy D 2017


Why I write Poetry

I woke up this morning to this piece written by Chuck over at the Reluctant Poet and to say I was gobsmacked would be an understatement.

I am sharing this, not through any ego trip, but as a example of the wonderful love and support provided by this community of writers, which I am proud to be a part of.

Your love and writing provides me with inspiration everyday and without it the journey would not be possible. A big thank you to you all.

Please take time out to visit Chuck at the Reluctant Poet. He is one of the great souls of poetry and the time and effort he spends supporting others deserves some love to be shared back with him.

Go Dog Go Café

Hi Everybody,  Today I would like to introduce you to DavyD of “Inside The Mind Of DavyD Blog”

For so many of you that haunt the GO DOG GO CAFE, DavyD is an Old and Dear Friend, a charter patron at Steve’s wonderful Cafe and Never Ending supporter of our community and so many individual writers.

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Schools Out

Schools Out

Poetic Motivations:50

Poetic Motivations_50



Night Sweats

Night Sweats



Above and Below

Above and Below

Poetic Motivations:49

Poetic Motivations_49Image Credit: Chris Webster