The Trials of a Poet

The Trials of a Poet

The husband how he scoffs and sneers,

on all my writing, inky tears.

When I wax dark he rolls his eyes,

mutters morbid, without disguise.

Our son you see, he takes my side,

praises my work, sings his mother’s pride.

But husband taunts and shakes his head.

Impatience speaks, my work misread.

I warn him time and time again,

that one dank day, I’ll lift my pen.

Immortalise his ways in rhyme.

A cruel fate, poetic crime.

Yet still he laughs, that fearless fool.

Write me then, but don’t be cruel.

Still I etch him with poet sight,

my lines run on, spitting spite.

So let him jeer, and let him jest.

He knows my words will do the rest.

For ink once spilled cannot be tamed,

Upon the page my love, defamed.

— Ruby Lord, Jun 04, 2026

About This Poem

Last Few Words: As it is the husbands birthday on Sunday, I thought I would revive this old poem and present him with his fate at dinner.

Style/Type: Structured: Western

Review Request Direction: What did you think of my title?

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - polished draft

About the Author

Country/Region: United Kingdom

Favorite Poets: Margaret Atwood is one of my favourite writers. Carol Ann Duffy, Philip Larkin, Ted Hughes, Wendy Cope and more.

Critiques

Geezer

1 day 7 hours ago

I love this one...

I know just how you feel, my wife doesn't see the point in my poetry. She only reads or listens to mine, because she loves me. She is not interested in anyone else's poetry, and her idea of a romantic gesture is when I do the dishes or some such thing.

I'm not sure that this line is really meant as [dread].

"Just like your mother, laughs at dread."

I think it might it go over better as:
"Just like your mother," was what he said.

Here is how I might do a rewrite of:
seen flicker of his worried blight.

[I've seen the flicker of, is she right?]

Of course, it's your husband and your poem, sooo...
~ Geez.

P.S. Your title is good.