“A Discontented Writer” by Nevada T. Kiely

Nevada T. Kiely*

A Discontented Writer

A discontented writer, am I, And an ever-more distinguished guy; I try my best to all I apply, Yet I’m so very discontented.

With all which I write, no one does read Even with my hard push to force-feed; Not one does peruse, but all recede, Thus, I’m so very discontented.

I’ve experimented -- all types, genres, Light verse poetry to dark operas. Comic limericks or solemn arias, Yet I’m so very discontented.

No matter what the subject contains I always fall short of my life’s aims. Yet try still I, with overlooked disdains. Therefore, I be very discontented.

Scholarly parties I dare not attend. For hearing all the people with books penned, And with plays on the theatre –- West End, Hard not to be very discontented.

I state I’m in between published text, Talking about my many works next. With not one title known, they leave perplexed. Leaving me very discontented.

I just know if one would give me a chance, And not disregard on very first glance, My tales of comic fair and romance, I wouldn’t be so discontented.

Trying so hard to achieve esteem, In a grouping where many apt do teem, Would it not be smart to give up on this dream? And not be very discontented?

Now at forty-seven years of age, I can’t get one periodical page. And with fourteen plays not one’s been staged. I’m so wrongly discontented.

Parchments of writings – I’ve filled with lines. But only read in my own confines, Never having to meet others’ deadlines. I’m so very discontented.

Other professions – I’d rather not try. None do for me what writing satisfies. So, it saddens me, and I wonder why I must be so very discontented?

Science is fine and history not bad, But I really should have stuck with CADD. Nevertheless, here I am and so sad, Left so very discontented.