PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

October night

        with the mystique

              of Baudelaire

         spread over

                  too warm

               Autumn air

Feeling unnatural

             as sweat beads

                   glisten

           upon my brow

the songs, they do

          play on

      in spite of themselves

music fills the air

           with the chants

                   of seraphim

         resounding across

               the tubular skies

The bells chime in unison

                      to the beating

               of the heart

but the pulse

               is slowed

         and derailed

           by nagging doubt

that remains persistent

a perfumed scent

          silhouettes the air

     arousing mystic yearning

            for the far off

         places of yonder

yet unobtainable

      yet endlessly chased
a human comedy

               of errors

    that is perhaps better

        than a tragedy of errors

It’s still too early

              in the evening

       and the Baudelairean

              jinx has

                  been lifted

I can read

the poetry free

             of any doubts

It is all in there

             My Rimbaud

                       is faltering

                  my Sartre

                      non-existent

yet I am still

             granted asylum

          to the school

        of varnished poetics

The fire is still

            aglow

       burning crisply

              in Autumn air

                 though waning

               just a tad

It still rages

       the muses still call

                  and I am

                     as yet

           their faithful

                           servant

I do their bidding

             without question

                  without thought

until I rebel

   and try to make

           them mine

that is when it

          really starts

      to get interesting