like a drunk, I gravitate my naked feelings
towards that ditch of feelings
my mind's breaks have failed
I am unable to hold on that diminishing virtue
such a burden to all
can you lead me to that palace
where I can wish to be myself
in the stretchy bends of life
there is no room for turmoil
if I could only believe that
I don't want to relive the past
hidden from the world, I escape you
just let me be with my poetry
I will not put brakes even if it cuts into me
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing this after 11 weeks. My muse had died suddenly but seems to have come back. I am not sure if it going to last or not. I do not even know what I wrote above makes sense or not. Does it, do let me know!!
Yes it makes sense. It's something I'm familiar with. My muse becomes inactive sometimes and it makes me sad. Glad that yours has returned. Love it.
ReplyDeletelife does have stretchy bends....nicely done. Glad your "muse" is back!
ReplyDeleteMakes perfect sense, but I read 'brakes' where you wrote breaks... It seems to work either way...
ReplyDeleteNever worry - the muse always comes back! It was hard to focus on the poem because I was so fascinated with the amazing pink outfit in the photo. I love it, it makes me smile. Channeling those feelings into poetry always helps. So happy you are writing!
ReplyDeleteLike the way you took control of this crazy image.
ReplyDeleteMuses have their own agenda, always. :) Yours seems to be on the ball here...
ReplyDeleteI'm really digging,
ReplyDelete"can you lead me to that palace
where I can wish to be myself
in the stretchy bends of life...."
I'm thankful for the stretchy bends in life; still, I can't help but feel claustrophobic at times, like when I look at that sweater.
ReplyDeleteThat sweater will never be the same again: you gave it such a shock :-)
ReplyDeleteHope it works like a security blanket. I hope there is a good spirit in that glass.
For me, your poem names poetry as the Master, who can free you
ReplyDeleteand empower you - see into your
nakedness and adores this part of you.
the steep steps of poetry breaks into my stupor
ReplyDeletelike a drunk, I gravitate my naked feelings
towards that ditch of feelings
my mind's breaks have failed
...powerful!
Gautami,
ReplyDeleteFirst of all may I request you never to think of leaving this God give gift of writing poems. You make a lot of sense. It is only when one is drunk that truth comes out. And you are surely drunk with so many words full of emotions which when you bead together show your hurt also. May God be kind.
Take care
it makes sense. sometimes the muse (and you too) needs a holiday. :)
ReplyDeleteit all makes perfect sense to me
ReplyDeleteand it always seems awkward when one reunites with their lover after a spat :)
... 'the stretchy bends of life' ~~ they are, aren't they?
ReplyDeleteIt makes sense, absolutely. The brakes are off (the break, too, I hope).
ReplyDelete;)
PS. Perfect use of the prompt to express your wait for the return of the muse. We've all been there.
Wonderfully written.
ReplyDeleteI threaten my Muse with a visit with the Death Star. Works 95% of the time.
Glad you rediscovered your muse. I like the stretchy bends of life
ReplyDeleteThe stretchy bends of life - wonderful phrase.
ReplyDeleteSo good to see you back! Especially liked that last little italicized part.
ReplyDelete