Working Man Poet
written by: Robin McNamara
@robbiemac72
The call of the pen,
Made me the man,
I wrote to be.
My working hours,
And my daily week,
Same, day by day.
My rested evenings,
And my fertile thoughts,
Pen in hand.
Come the weekend,
That freed the pen,
That poem was born.
From frustration of life,
The battles fought,
The bitter man’s sigh.
Lost again to the morning,
Of another working day,
The ritual earnings.
Through the day,
This poetry lounging,
Inside my head.
It lives inside,
The pen writes,
The birth of this poem.
APRIL 2021 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com
Robin McNamara is a widely published poet from Ireland. His debut pamphlet, Under a Mind’s Staircase was published with Hedgehog Poetry Press (2021). Recently nominated for the Pushcart Prize for ‘Apple Picking Season’ from Under a Mind’s Staircase. His first full collection, Monochrome Heart is due to be published in 2022.
Latest posts by Robin McNamara (see all)
- Mountain Soul - November 2, 2022
- Torn Away - July 30, 2022
- Planting - May 9, 2022
