Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Same Old Stuff

My confounded muse can hardly explain,
How each mere sight will unleash those lines
That swim from the depths of my soul.

Rhymes that were absent for weeks shuttle back
And swing into new shapes and cling to her curls
With music that chimes with her smile.

So I conspire with time and implore with wind
To extend her stay in my sight; as seconds
Move on minutes and minutes to new hours
That whiplash my soul into shapes that are wrought
By agonies of unfulfilled hope.

Knowing none of this, she smiles and then leaves
Trailing my heart in her heels.

25 comments:

Heaven said...

She is some confounding muse ~ But I hope you continue to keep an eye on her ~ She might come back with vengence ~

Sometimes I lost my rhythm too, and find myself grappling with verse and meaning ~

Marcoantonio Arellano said...

Hmmm, my muse? I have decided that all is good if consdered in the context of the moment.

I recall saying or writing something that seemed easy and mellifluous then the next moment that I attempted to say or write something it didn't feel the same.
When the wind blows every gust, every swirl is different yet it's still wind. And the earth still rotates and the stars still glitter at night. Seems the same but all does change. Your muse is always present but with a different gust or swirl. Always there are different eyes and ears see and hear your voice

I enjoy your writing

VaNdAnA ShArMa said...

But its good to plunge back with elan

Anand S Unni said...

Lovely poem. Loved reading it. Keep writing. :)

jossina said...

unrequited love hmm..

mindlovemisery said...

I love that last line, that certainly embodies my muse as well. When I write and don't think of producing anything I produce but the moment my head gets into and I start to over think analyze I stop hearing her voice and its a lot harder writing. This is fantastic =)

Mary said...

Oh, I hear you with this, Abin. We need to implore our muse to stay hours rather than minutes once she has arrived. It definitely is disheartening when she leaves. (Love the last stanza..which expresses so much.)

Laura said...

OH she will surely return, when you least expect her:-)

PhotoDiction said...

I really like this - the images, the cadence, the truth behind how elusive and teasing the muse can be.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

"those lines that swim from the depths of my soul"........it is a mystery why some days they flow from who-knows-where, and other times they march like unwilling and recalcitrant soldiers........I loved this one, Abin.

ssmatthews451 said...

The angst of the artist and his muse. nice portrayal.

Brian Miller said...

smiles...the muse can be a fickle thing...coming and going as she will...leaving us just when we become comfortable in her presence...nice capture...

Audrey Howitt aka Divalounger said...

Beautiful piece Abin--and I so resonate--lovely, lovely close!

Jacqueline Howett said...

I enjoyed reading your poem! Filled me with wonder, anticipation and curiosity!

Panchali said...

ah, the restless muse!:( This poem is going to delight every person who has a heart and a soul--it happens to me so often!:((
Beautiful piece....

Jinksy said...

Poor old muse gets blamed for everything! LOL
But we all manage to keep on writing, eh? :)

Charleen said...

Those muses!

kaykuala said...

That whiplash my soul into shapes that are wrought
By agonies of unfulfilled hope.

One gets the end of the stick sometimes and these weren't good. Realities of life that'll solve itself in time. Nicely Abin!

Hank

bonniejtoomey.com said...

Oh, writer's Block I Like How You CompareThe Muse To A Ghostly,Sociopath.

hedgewitch said...

When deserted by the muse, we must write on, even if only out of spite. ;_) More seriously, I do feel the pain, the almost desperation, and the human need here, all very well expressed.

Kerry O'Connor said...

Ah, ode to an absent muse on her return!

mywordwall said...

Just hang on...sometimes the muse takes a break. She'll come back. She always does. :-)

hyperCRYPTICal said...

She will return. She must!

Anna :o]

Susie Clevenger said...

Such a creative write of a muse's exit. Beautiful piece!

sharplittlepencil.com said...

Abin, first time here, thanks to Open Link at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. I don't have a muse, just my muddled brain - but I admire people who recognize theirs. This is written, properly, as a love poem. Then she glides off, your worship of her trailing behind, not knowing... Man, this is great writing. Muse is fickle, but she'll come back! Amy