She stirs in her cell, unaware she’s free
The keyboards start to click in joyous dread;
For you, O useless reader, hold the key
To rouse this sleeping prisoner from her bed.
Accustomed to her dull imprisoned state
Unused to warmth, she babbles in her cage
She fears, at first, the freedom to create;
Awakening, our muse begins to rage
Across the warming threshold into light,
She strides as verses blossom on the page
To chastise and put winter’s ghosts to flight.
The thawing wind! She shakes her golden hair
And lyric pollination seeds the air . . .
It’s time to fire up my blog
and add to the poetic smog.
Marching thus, to April’s drum
may cause my muse to pause, mid-strum
and harp on my poetic lack
of will toward permanent attack.
Didactic, though, I strive to be;
And write with pure sincerity.
I’ll do my best to rail, and preach
and by such arts, some poor soul reach
assuring them they are not mad
but yes, the world IS worse than bad.
I’m sorry that I lack the power
to versify upon a flower.
(Leave that for some other, later
blithe pathetic poetaster.)
Where’s my muse?
They must have maced her.
Adore bad Haiku?
Check back here during April
and you’ll get your fill
I enjoy checking other NaPoWriMo blogs as we await April Fool’s day.
Since 2014, I’ve published 30 original poems
for National Poetry Writing Month every April.
I am re-posting previous work during March.
You can read more by clicking the NaPoWriMo widgets to the right ▶
Disabused of Muses
Poetry, you dazzled my eye
teased me with unearthly visions;
got me too high.
Primed my soul to fly to heaven
then marooned me upon the earth
sixed for seven.
You called across celestial shores
glowing in empyrean colors
then shut your doors.
Lost in your amusing mazes
I followed fast your golden thread
through dark phases.
Muse-abused and undelivered
my heartstrings wavered, stalled, then stopped—
Poetry, you’ve cheated on me;
winked and flirted, then escorted
Spare me further cantos, curses,
keep your holy delirium,
unhinged verses . . .
On second thought, oh Lady cruel—
humiliate me. Lead me on.
(I’m still your fool.)
Dominatrix, queen of the word
for you I’ll suffer untold shame.
IMAGE CREDIT: 3bp.blogspot.com
[Roxy Music album art: For Your Pleasure 1973]