What would you think,
Mr. Laureate, if you were reading
over my shoulder, taking
in each word
as I typed.
Would you sigh to yourself
in exasperation, and mumble
in profane versified disgust.
Would you throw your hands
up in the air and grimace
toward the god of poetry
and ask him why this writer
can't scribble a masterpiece,
like Collins, who can ask a reader
to water ski the surface of a poem
or like Angelou who somehow
manages to rise from poetic dust.
Would you understand,
that sometimes my muse is bronzed,
frozen like Rodin's Thinker
and that this petrification
has me hunched in a chair
waiting for words to stop
by in pigeon droppings.
Can you, dear laureate,
understand that sometimes,
my measured meters
of emotion are stuffed
like antique pillows,
packed with sketchy similes
and sewn together with cliched thread.
Would you agree --
[my window watching the world
go by:
canonizations
of brooks that talk to much
or canicule's sweet
smelling magnolia scents]
with my goldfish
as he swims in his bowl,
silently watching me
with an unblinking stare
and too, mouth
why, why, why.
What did you think
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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This is one of best pieces I've read in awhile. Love it !!
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The tinge of insanity at the end was cool, you almost have to be a little crazy to write, or heck, that just might be me. Yep it's hard to love something but find you just might not have the zeal you though you would for it: hey, maybe you could draw? (LOL) It's frustrating waiting for the inspiration or the right words to come, and almost as bad, for them to come when your not near pen nor paper and don't have the time.
. Rewarded 8
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This is good. It is a simple, emotional, yet well-handled piece in which the writer describes her need to satisfy a mercurial muse and the inevitable laureates. Well done!!! - oce
. Rewarded 4
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BRAVO!!
This is an amazing poem you have created here. I love the flow.
"Would you understand,
that sometimes my muse is bronzed,
frozen like Rodin's Thinker
and that this petrification
has me hunched in a chair
waiting for words to stop
by in pigeon droppings"
I love it!!
. Rewarded 6
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Fantastic!
What an absolutely fabulous poem.
I've heard Collins read before and I could honestly hear him saying some of your lines (in my head) whilst reading. Your style is not unlike his, actually, but it has its own unique twists that one must simply sit back and experience...
Fabulous.
. Rewarded 6
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This is a Valentine!
When dear SS speaks we come to attention...no need at all for frequent words just wonderful, profound,
and inspiring ones that come when they will like a precious and most wanted gift! Happy Valentine's Day
dear and wonderful poet...I loved every single word of this especially
'Can you, dear laureate,
understand that sometimes,
my measured meters
of emotion are stuffed
like antique pillows,
packed with sketchy similes
and sewn together with cliched thread.'
Brava! Jane
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one word : WOW
If my pen bled blood like yours,
I'd wonder, was yours blood,
And was mine cranberry juice ?
rock on !!!
. Rewarded 4
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Great
I really enjoyed this. I know the feeling, and most do (unless they are prodegies). You wait for some magnificant poem to arise from osmosis, just type and out comes a masterpiece. I feel this way often when I am writting music. I think that I will just hear this amazing melody that totally expresses my idea. Well anyway, great right.
. Rewarded 6
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Good write and well said. I spose everyone feels that way in our struggle to string words together and create something of interest. Happy trails
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