dancing with the muse

counting syllables,

measuring meter, seeking

rhymes obscure, arcane,

chasing words through the forests,

mountains and green meadows of

his turbulent, sharp

mind: thus the poet works, toils,

his ink-stained fingers

gripping the pen, scratching script

or slashing at missteps mid

the lines.  he scowls, taps

his pen against the table

and crushes the sheet quickly,

throws it away with the rest.

his muse is deadly silent.

Reviews

[Lyn Anderson]

I dig your style baby. I just don't like how you reach into my brain and pick at my thoughts. That hurts, ouch! Oh oh, I can feel one almost there, hovering under my fingers, just for you. Yeah, sorry, purists, ditched the pen awhile ago. It's all about the flashing lights and the keyboard now.

[annie lee]

Thanks for reading and reviewing. I find I can keyboard text sometimes, but I am usually pen and paper. I am not an accomplished keyboarder, but I can crank out pages with pen or pencil fairly quickly. I find it easier to revise (slash and burn) with paper copy. Since I cannot afford to use so much of that expensive computer paper, I keep printed stuff to a minimum. Thanks for your kind words.

[Pryde Foltz]

This take on writers block reads almost savagely. Awesome. I love the choice to forgo capitalization and each word seems to flow seamlessly in the next. Fantastic.

[Frieda P]

Doesn't sound as though the muse is silent to me...love this, love poetry about poetry, this is no exception, good read on the block we dread as poets. So true................! Well done minichinz.