Post by David Nelson Bradsher on Mar 30, 2008 14:49:58 GMT -5
A Muse, a Monster, and a Poet
He stalks like Summer in the South,
Humid and laden with a viscid heat
That rises in the street
As if the vapor from a dragon’s mouth.
Ghostly with silence and a grudge,
He caters malice with a sweaty smile
Whilst watching all the while
With the demeanor of a hanging judge.
She moves like Autumn in the North,
Breezy and rich with colorful designs
Traced lightly with the lines
Of an earth goddess gliding bravely forth
Into a mystic firestorm,
Conjured by one whose unredeemed concern
Is how to cruelly burn
The beauty of a mind’s unwitting form.
To the young poet, it is not
apparent, but he hosts a battlefield
for two who wield
their psychic weapons in an active plot.
Between the monster and the muse,
There lies the coveted untapped potential,
Reluctant yet essential,
That lights the wick of his creative fuse.
He sits unknowingly, alone,
Intent upon the naked bone-white page,
Oblivious to rage,
Embattled spirits, and the ringing phone,
And he ignores the world, immersed
In the warm universe of hit-and-miss
Poetics, blind with bliss-
Full remedies for writer’s block. Lips pursed,
He bends his will to rhyme and meter
As two opposing spirits meet amid
His ego and his id.
The baleful male transcendent can’t defeat her,
And her unyielding powers smack
Him back to nothing, through the cosmic door.
Retreating with a roar,
He falls to silence in the violent black,
Breaking the barrier of light
As he rejoins, again, his shadow-kind,
Without a captured mind
And only pain to fill the endless night.
The poet sits and scrawls a verse
About the hardihood that spurs his muse,
She of October hues
And the wild might that broke a choking curse.
He stalks like Summer in the South,
Humid and laden with a viscid heat
That rises in the street
As if the vapor from a dragon’s mouth.
Ghostly with silence and a grudge,
He caters malice with a sweaty smile
Whilst watching all the while
With the demeanor of a hanging judge.
She moves like Autumn in the North,
Breezy and rich with colorful designs
Traced lightly with the lines
Of an earth goddess gliding bravely forth
Into a mystic firestorm,
Conjured by one whose unredeemed concern
Is how to cruelly burn
The beauty of a mind’s unwitting form.
To the young poet, it is not
apparent, but he hosts a battlefield
for two who wield
their psychic weapons in an active plot.
Between the monster and the muse,
There lies the coveted untapped potential,
Reluctant yet essential,
That lights the wick of his creative fuse.
He sits unknowingly, alone,
Intent upon the naked bone-white page,
Oblivious to rage,
Embattled spirits, and the ringing phone,
And he ignores the world, immersed
In the warm universe of hit-and-miss
Poetics, blind with bliss-
Full remedies for writer’s block. Lips pursed,
He bends his will to rhyme and meter
As two opposing spirits meet amid
His ego and his id.
The baleful male transcendent can’t defeat her,
And her unyielding powers smack
Him back to nothing, through the cosmic door.
Retreating with a roar,
He falls to silence in the violent black,
Breaking the barrier of light
As he rejoins, again, his shadow-kind,
Without a captured mind
And only pain to fill the endless night.
The poet sits and scrawls a verse
About the hardihood that spurs his muse,
She of October hues
And the wild might that broke a choking curse.
