PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I don't pursue my 3:00 A.M. poetry.

I don't make it happen in me then.

I merely wake and touch my toe and pen in sea-foam

     of Imagination, Love, Memory,

          and let it engulf me as it will:

               Body-surfing in Life's Sea...

                    with my Muse.



My mind desires  NOT  to be willing.

My haunts are not volitional, nor pleasant.

My echoes---'though faint---are not dull, but painful:

     ghosts of tigers, fresh pink babies;

          fragrances or fears, remembered.

               Fore-forgotten future fables and fates,

                    with my Muse.



I do not choose insomniacal inspiration.

"I would not wither thee" is my invitaion "To Dance!!" (+)

I dislike being Grief's necessary instrument!

     Ink does not choose to be ink.

          Blood is blood no matter its antigens.

               In a dream undreamed I awake, trapped

                    with my Muse.



I hate crying, especially when I can't.

I did not choose to be me; don't YOU accuse me!

I DO choose to continue (I do not HAVE to!)

     I have things which ache, like YOU.

          But the pain is this:  I'm all alone,

               as I Cry My Dry, Old, Cold Tears,

                    with my Muse.



{and, the obligatory Haiku:}



          I'm tender, well-done

      o'er Life's incandescent coals,

          impaled on Fate's spit.



(+) see  my entry, "Dance With Me!"