Thursday, September 18, 2014

Almost a love poem

This was born at my 1st doof when I was inspired by my babes, and in a perfect moment of pharmaceutical bliss words simply abandoned me... it was a one sentence poem called 'You' which originally said only:

Words diminish what is a beautiful moment

Of course once I got stuck into it, it turned into something else much grander in scale. I woke up in the middle of the night weeks later with the first form in my head but couldn't find anything to write on.

Sometimes things don't need to be complicated. They usually are, but every once in a while it's simple... wood... trees... you... this is almost a love poem. You know who you are xxx

It's always at night
bed sheets seem to sweat
beset by insight
chasing fleeting thoughts,
thoughtful brows are ploughed
like an empty page
lined up, and somehow
clean spaces, mocking
the hardening ground
begging for sweet seed
of an inky sound...
This... inspiration;
if I could only
find the light switch, CLICK
shock... sun-shines... Dammit...
it's gone and I'm tired,
too tired to track down
my tricksy charger
in the tragic dark,
I'll stare at stark stars
instead through cloudy
eyelids till insight
imprints a lunar
memory, fighting
the encroaching dawn.
Ideas gasping
dragonflies fly on,
glass-like, dancing foam
on oceans, dreaming
with treacherous wings;
They're writing a name
in ripples, they sing
sweetly, soft cries lost
In the dawn chorus,
In whispering tides.

An aspiring poet
chases far flung tracks
of critical facts
dubious moments
opened in the mic
Cracked, burning bright lights.
Can something new grow
from midnight musings;
they're withered by sleep,
oddly green shoots grow,
proving an idea
crushed into cookie
cutter word games
is not just half-baked
but crunched through c-l-e-n-c-h-e-d teeth
before it can see
either page or stage.

To the poet, blank
pages? Tyranny,
a rank canker soothed
only by the muse;
perused and pursued
experience will
perish on plush pages.
My heroes, consumed
by the stress of her regard.
There's a lesson there
if we care to learn;
here's to waking, still alive,
for the muse never dies,
she only inspires,
I can't see a thing
better than rolling
over this morning
to see your soft face
spilled into a pillow
some heavenly prank
slipped into my bed
with your head, thank God,
still attached to your
body, with your head still
attached to your body...
Your breath a velvet
red kiss, swallows words...
You see me, the dawn
is in your smile;
how can I find bliss
when words can only
diminish... I can
smile, right back at you.

If only I could write
it might even be
a love poem! Steal
this pen and paper
from my bedside, please
replace ink and page
ten percent battery remains
racing to write down
the curse of autocorrect
It can't stop me now!
Where was the muse
I've been drowning
to find all night?
You were right beside
me all along.