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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Poet's Corner

Mike Worrall, Poets Corner, oil on linen, 122x155cm, 2002

I walked the labyrinth until my feet were sore
Discovered that bliss and blisters do not happily coexist
I sat and meditated until my ass went numb
Emerged no more enlightened than when I first began
I prayed to God, the saints, the Devil, the muses, and Jesus
It was the religious equivalent of mixing ammonia and bleach -
Yet here I am, still dumb as a bag of rocks
and empty as a Halloween pumpkin in the head
The music I create is birthed between my legs
Oh well, at least it makes you happy to sing along.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Challenge, featuring Mike Worrall

2 comments:

Heaven said...

Sometimes the muse is still sleeping under the Halloween pumpkin ~ Bliss and blisters don't happily co-exist, I agree with you ~

Thanks for playing along LM ~

Have a good week ~

purplepeninportland said...

'the music is birthed between my legs' - that is priceless. I love the poem.