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Poem by Mary Hobson


I hate this page.
No black on white,
no crossings out, not one scrawled word.
It is demanding that I write,
empty my head,
release my rage,
my love of the absurd,
my grief.
Well yes. It would be a relief.
Something I need to do.
A chore.
Like clearing dead leaves from the overflow.
But is it anything youТd like to know?
Why should I empty it on you?
ItТs all been said

Mary Hobson

Mary Hobson's other poems:
  1. Laundry Blues
  2. Meditations on Marcus Aurelius
  3. Waterloo Station
  4. The Counsellors
  5. Now I will always know that you died

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Samuel Coleridge Despair ("I have experienc'd")
  • George Crabbe Despair ("Begin, my Tyrsis; songs shall sooth our cares")
  • Madison Cawein Despair ("Shut in with phantoms of life's hollow hopes")

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