“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label muse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label muse. Show all posts
Thursday, April 30, 2020
elasticity/density
The anticipated fog
steamrolls over
terrestrial things
in ways worthy
of emulating.
Clearing in manhole
windows, a glint of caught
starlight hints at the presence
of an eternal watchful
vigil by the moon cast.
Slow and muffled comes the
hollow sound, conjured by a presence
stirring the air.
Straining to hear
a muse muttering
your name as if it were
pronounced in the echo
of Nobody.
Painting by John Atkinson Grimshaw (1836-1893), 'A Moonlit Evening' c. 1880 in Public Domain.
Thursday, September 19, 2019
Spell
Nobody practices
Magic anymore,
Other than for
Amusement.
We are losing
our skills while being
focused on
what went wrong.
Who knows better.
We know.
We do not like taking medicine.
All doctors begin
Believing
that all of our inoculants,
all cures were right here,
waiting to be
spelled out
on the tips our of tongues.
There is a familiar smell
growing stronger
Outside of the lab.
It was always Life or Death.
This time
A muse meant
Healing.
Some words are harder to swallow.
Artwork by Paul Klee, 'Fish Magic' c. 1925 in the Philadelphia Museum of Art [Public domain].
Saturday, April 20, 2019
which explains the silence...
The monkey and the muse
were in the
den
together
waiting for one
to speak-
The muse sat,
arms crossed
across the locked up chest
and the monkey just
gesticulates
in wild attempts
to aggravate
a predicted response-
whereby
two arms finally fell like pillars
allowing a plumage of smile to seep out
of the rubble-
You don't need a hand-
were the only words
I heard
eavesdropping
I struggled
to recognize the voice.
While trying to listen in
I lost sight of where I stood
momentarily,
and then the den was silent
while the world
was deafening,
when I could not
help
but find focus
there seemed only one-
source of the sound,
and only
one shadow
emerged.
Painting by Janis Rozentals, 'The Princess and the monkey' c. 1913 in the Latvian National Museum of Art [Public domain].
Wednesday, September 12, 2018
Mis(s)worded
Since
I couldn't
no-wouldn't
stand the voice
No-noise,
the incessant barrage
of worded white noise,
I wrote poetry
(for constraint).
What does happen when
2 pennies are rubbed together,
a spark
of sense?
The sound that silence plays
while filling in the gaps
has become louder the older
I get, as if I get
something.
Who is the I
that claims to Be not I-
the poet
The words with an alibi
from elsewhere
saw how small and narrow
the mark Itself made, and made
more width and depth
to shroud the naked nouns.
When I went
quiet
you covered your ears.
My two eyes narrowed
even more,
the poem burst and dissipated
in front of us, like memory
maligned
for lack of metaphor
or something nice
to be noted.
Image credited by Edgar Degas [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Title: Louise Halévy Reading to Degas, c.1895
Friday, August 22, 2014
Suffering in Silence
By Antonio da Fabriano II (Italian, active 1451-1489) (Walters Art Museum: Home page Info about artwork) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Shhh! I'm straining to hear
(I must admit, to you
this is my greatest fear)
thundering, rolling silence
boulders unwedged
cracking from a dry spell
not able to find the words to tell
nor a drop in the hollow inkwell
a writers ramblings
that chokingly clutter
floods of thoughts, ideas,
those clever lines I mutter
all taken for granted!
Perhaps there's just nothing
more needing to be said,
(it never before
felt like such a chore)
It used to come
like a heartbeats drum
Absent, broken, chaotic ideas
now dam
and make me look dumb!
A river of words flows by,
a waterfall of passion spills out,
taken by the current inspiration
that usually carries me
Dry and jammed
lodged with self-immolated Styx,
a busy beavers idle work,
where idleness eddies may lurk
I am told not to worry
it will be back and come in torrent
Can you hear the watery voice?
Comprehend its murky messages?
Now, I should confess
I am responsible for this lazy mess
(it's not as though I haven't tried
"I wrote a little today," I lied.)
Instead sterile white paper mirroring thoughts
Letters, symbols, pixels,
words that don’t go anywhere
stuck in virtuous silence
waiting for the stream to come...
Composed 8/22/14.
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