Tuesday, December 6, 2016

Poetry Indeed !

I have long been tormented by poetry, 
tortured by lines calling me from their depths, 
in early hours before dawn. 
When even my house was asleep. 
To rise and sit at a wooden desk with pen in front of paper 
and write all alliteration that comes to mind.
Fec ! 
It is enough to drive drinkers mad, 
such prattle, poetry indeed.

©MRL Dec 2016

6 comments:

  1. When the muse calls. The muse calls!

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    1. It does so at times when one would like the mind to be quiet :-)

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  2. And what Muse are you going to blame for this insulting deed??
    Poetry is what poetry does, and the messenger is not always in charge of the words. I think this was a very charming piece, Melvyn!!

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    1. I can but only blame my own mind... it being in a satirical state
      at the time :-)

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  3. "Not for the proud man apart from the raging moon I write on the spendthrift pages..."--Dylan Thomas. Dirty dirty Dylan won't leave us alone. Which begs the question: who was goading him? Poetry is more than memory. It is the electric charge in a circuit of life. Write. Write.

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