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

Bad Parenting

I made it! 30+ poems in 30 days for NaPoWriMo!!!   Yay me!

 I must admit

that I have been too indulgent with my muse,

treating her as if she were a queen,

demanding nothing.

Now she has become a spoiled brat,

petulant and contrary.

She will not rouse when summoned,

burrows under the covers and whines,

"I don't feel like it!"

I should have been more firm from the start;

now it's a battle of wills.

She ignores my taps and gentle shakes,

covers her ears to my reveille,

refuses to budge.

"Well, I'll just start writing without you!" I shriek.

 She calls my bluff- "Just try."