compelled as ever

“compelled as ever”

I write because I must-
because the hour arrives unbidden
and yet expects to be received.

There is a kind of trembling in it,
a soft urgency,
as though the words themselves
have travelled far
and would be wounded
to find the door closed.

And so I open it.

I take up the pen
not out of pride,
nor even out of confidence,
but because something in me
would feel strangely unmade
if I turned away
from what has come.

The poem insists.
The moment insists.
And I-
I simply answer,
as I have always done,
grateful that the Muse
still knows my name.

.

Reviews

[Lorry]

It is almost impossible to explain the compulsion to write for a writer, no matter how talented they are, but you have done admirably here with the feeling from within and out with us all to pen what a feeling that is.
Even with the last line of being grateful the museum still knows your name speaks to us all no matter how strong or weak that connection feels to her at varying times of our lives.
Sometimes I feel she is my soul mate and other times I wonder if she is an ex I forgot that I took a restraining orfer out on, but I too am grateful she knows my name.

[redd Brick Keshner]

Indeed, Lorry, and that is such a lovely image about the soulmate and superlatively delicious image of the restraining order!

[John the Baptist]

The creative process is very nicely captured in this one. We who continue to write would indeed feel something is missing if we didn't. And of course it is so nice when the muse remembers your name.

[redd Brick Keshner]

And our wholeness is complete when the writing process is completed.

[Belle]

Your poem is a tender and powerful meditation on the necessity of creation.
I am moved by how you depict writing not as an act of pride or mastery,
but as an essential response to an inner summons "strangely unmade" if ignored.

The trembling urgency of your lines captures the delicate tension between the self and the Muse,
showing how words arrive as both gift and demand. There is a sacred intimacy in your act of opening the door, a reverence for the mysterious force that moves through you, making creation feel inevitable,
alive...and deeply human.

[redd Brick Keshner]

Thank you so much. May this new year be all that you ever wanted it to be 🙏🏻🕊️

[Thomas W Case]

This feels deeply true to the act of writing itself. I like how the poem frames the work as a summons rather than a choice—answering the door instead of seeking attention. The ending with the Muse “still” knowing the speaker’s name lands quietly and strong.

[redd Brick Keshner]

Thanks, Thomas; the ending was a bit of a worry. Your experienced rate and eat are truly appreciated 🕊️🙏🏻

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"something in me/ would feel strangely unmade/ if I turned away/ from what has come."

You wrote me there...that is exactly how and why I write. No choice, my conscience wouldn't let me ignore the muse. Just wouldn't.

[redd Brick Keshner]

Thanks, j. May this new year see you through more writing and reading 🕊️🙏🏻

[BuzzyB]

This is me. Everyone who writes will feel it. I get it totally. And I love to relate.

[redd Brick Keshner]

Thanks kindly, Buzzybee🕊️🙏🏻

[Curly Grace]

A beautifully gentle piece. I love how you capture the quiet inevitability of creation, that soft urgency, that humble willingness to answer when the moment calls. The closing gratitude to the Muse lingers in such a tender way. Lovely work.

[redd Brick Keshner]

Thanks, Sarah. Your apt observation has accurately encapsulated the heart of the poem. 🕊️🙏🏻