Sunday, May 19, 2013

She


She stands and blocks
My every turn
Words form and dissipate
Ideas fragment
And disintegrate

I want to write of certainty
Of sureness and conviction
She smiles
And all I get is
Indecision and uncertainty

I want the words to flow
From wells of my unconsciousness
Instead they sputter, splutter, spark
She vaguely nods
And watches words cease and choke

I want to write of love
It’s elusive, mysteriousness
I want to write its depth and heights
She stands in grinning silence
As love dissipates

I ask her if she’s mad at me
If I’ve offended her
She gives me one more thought
Then changing her mind
The thought dissolves

I hope in her silence
I may sleep
Once through the night
Yet as though to mock me
She wakes me yet again

I stumble and sit
Before this screen
Waiting for her inspiration
She laughs
Words disintegrate
Ideas dissipate
And all I get is indecision and uncertainty

I sigh,
My muse is having fun
I think I’ll slip back to bed
Perhaps, perhaps
I’ll get some sleep

Perhaps when I awake
The words will flow again
Perhaps she will be kind to me
And having proved her superiority
Will grant to me 
The gift of her musing


perhaps
_________________________
It is 1:45am the end of a frustrating Sunday where ideas formed and then died still born.   It is also the beginning of another day, so hope springs eternal.  Perhaps my Muse will be kind to me today.

2 comments:

  1. Well, David, if that's the quality of your poetry without your Muse, you don't need her! I've been reading some other poems here too and I am thoroughly enjoying your style. It is accessible to me...not always the case for me with poetry. Often, I feel frustrated with the fancy way of saying nothing. But your poetry is different. You have a lovely way of saying lots! Thank you.
    Christine
    cicampbellblog.wordpress.com

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    Replies
    1. Thank you Christine, I appreciate your comment and encouragement. All the best. David

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