Sanctuary with the Blogger's Muse

Egads they're getting closer!
Save me gentle lady
From the murd'rous horde
Intent upon my words
I've so few left at this late hour
I must from random books implore
I scrape a few quick quips together
That holds them for a day
I leave a bit of rhyme
Sitting on their path
Hoping that it may
Their terrible approach delay

For weeks I've run ahead them
Dusty cloud on near horizons
Where their eyes the world consume
Each moment they draw closer
Devour another bloom
They hunt my poor creations
Tear gentle words to scrap

I know it's wrong to sacrifice
My poor creatures' lives
But they'll my own murky head
If I fail for more than daily drive
So I tell myself creation
Pays in some small coin
For the destruction I allow
To save my trembling soul

Please my gentle lady
Hear my frantic plea
Keep the rabid readers
From tearing into me
You see I've lost the limeric
Dropped the sonnet in the dust
Forgotten what I ever knew of
Poetic license to describe the thrust

I've no more words to feed them
No more lines their eyes to lead
There's no paper on the writing desk
They ragged quill has run bone dry
Will you not dear muse my pen
Refill from down on high?


  1. Honey

    Honey on 01/17/2006 3:54 a.m. #

    <br />
    How perfect!<br />
    Must be your lucky day<br />
    I've to be on my busy way<br />
    Peek but not post <br />
    The most I can give<br />
    So the gods have granted you<br />
    Some kind of reprieve<br />
    Or maybe it was meant for me<br />
    Regardless, <br />
    Three drudging weeks I'll be <br />
    If i tarry, maybe 4 <br />
    (if i lose the plot, considerably more)<br />
    Hope this will be what you need<br />
    To keep the hordes <br />
    From breaking down the door. <br />
    <br />
    Stay cool :)

  2. Mike Fletcher

    Mike Fletcher on 01/17/2006 8:23 a.m. #

    Egads the lady's left me<br />
    To the cruel insistent mob!

  3. Honey

    Honey on 01/17/2006 4:25 p.m. #

    <br />
    Yes dear boy, but a little faith<br />
    And you’ll fend them off,<br />
    Using the might of your word<br />
    And your thwarting ingenuity<br />
    With such requested refilled sword <br />

  4. Mark

    Mark on 01/19/2006 8:55 a.m. #

    I arrived here after clicking on the link at the bottom of one of your TAUG posts. I must admit I've never been much for reading or writing poetry, however the wit and dare I say, sheer genius of banter back and forth between yourself and Honey is both astounding and fascinating, brilliant. To think, you both can just roll this of the cuff, I’m utterly humbled.<br />
    <br />
    I have presumed to comment here, my presumption based on this being a “public” place, although I do feel somewhat of a voyeur, please correct me if I’m wrong.<br />

  5. Mike Fletcher

    Mike Fletcher on 01/19/2006 9:40 a.m. #

    Speak, traveller, be welcome here<br />
    We've no agenda save to share<br />
    A bit of mirth and bubbling words<br />
    You're welcome to our simple verse<br />
    (And the occasional bit of prose)<br />
    Share yours as you will

  6. Honey

    Honey on 01/19/2006 4:53 p.m. #

    <br />
    My thoughts distract me from my work<br />
    I’ve seen his comments on verse of mirth<br />
    I must excuse him, he’s but a man<br />
    Yet it’s imperative he understand <br />
    My words are writ with jealous pen<br />
    Of which I’m not apt to explain <br />
    It’s source lies set within the heart <br />
    Not the product of a reasoning brain<br />
    I will not make of him such request<br />
    To refrain from versing with another <br />
    But plz forgive that I impulsively suggest<br />
    He radically rethink what it means<br />
    To be a poetry lover ;-)<br />
    <br />
    <br />
    and to mark, yes, welcome (well it's not my site but you know) and thank you for your generous praise. so pleased (and a little embarrassed) you found it enjoyable :)<br />

  7. Mike Fletcher

    Mike Fletcher on 01/19/2006 6:53 p.m. #

    The jealous reader<br />
    Wants no other<br />
    This meager page to read<br />
    Curses me as a mere man<br />
    For she thinks love is moments<br />
    By a fire on some tattered rug<br />
    But we men know poetry<br />
    With a different passion<br />
    It is all and everything<br />
    Strings from each heart<br />
    To all creation<br />
    <br />
    To love the vast universe<br />
    In a blaze of passion<br />
    Cannot happen to a heart<br />
    If at each setting of the pen to page<br />
    The hand pauses to worry<br />
    Which pocket of gas<br />
    Lump of stone in far orbit<br />
    Or maiden on her far-off porch<br />
    Might grow jealous<br />
    And curse us as men<br />
    For loving poetry

  8. Honey

    Honey on 01/20/2006 1:17 a.m. #

    <br />
    Curse the men?<br />
    That wasn’t me<br />
    Condemning their love for poetry<br />
    I adore the poet within the man<br />
    And have no desire to stifle his hand<br />
    I just long to hold it on it’s traveling way<br />
    Because if I let go, I fade away<br />
    And clearly the self interest there<br />
    Would only be indulged <br />
    By one who could care<br />
    <br />
    You want to flail about this universe<br />
    Loving everything that be?<br />
    I’m sorry but to me <br />
    That screams of absurdity<br />
    I don’t believe this universe is love<br />
    I believe it to be food for thought<br />
    And you don’t believe it either <br />
    Else you’d sit content in your chair<br />
    Rather than reminiscing days<br />
    When you had someone to share<br />
    The wondrous works that beheld your eye <br />
    Set gloriously within the evening sky<br />
    <br />
    You speak as though you know<br />
    What comprises my thoughts on love<br />
    Yet this is something I’ve not given you<br />
    The pleasure to be privy of<br />
    I think you’ve confused what you see<br />
    Of my opinions on courtesy<br />
    And your own thinking’s wrapped up <br />
    In some erroneous philosophy <br />
    <br />
    Yeah…that’s what I think<br />
    <br />
    Because I will share with you what I know love isn’t!<br />
    <br />
    Love is not a parent’s pain<br />
    As they desperately cling night and day<br />
    To some shred of hope for their abducted infant girl.<br />
    <br />
    Love is not a bomb of hostility<br />
    That creates a boys deformity, <br />
    And steals from him the members of his family<br />
    <br />
    Love is not an alcoholic <br />
    That returns home at night all vitriolic<br />
    To administer to his wife a lesson in submission<br />
    <br />
    Love is not a father’s violation<br />
    That drives a loved wife into prostitution <br />
    Attempting to fill a childhood void of self esteem<br />
    <br />
    Love does not barbarically mutilate <br />
    Young girls sexuality violate<br />
    To appease those who value forced chastity over trust<br />
    <br />
    Love does not hand boys weapons <br />
    And rob them of their innocence<br />
    By sending them to wage war against their brothers<br />
    <br />
    Love is not an ideology <br />
    That believes war on the enemy<br />
    Is fought in jihad attacks upon innocents of democracy<br />
    <br />
    …I’d better stop here while I still can<br />
    <br />
    <br />
    If you are unable to see <br />
    Any value in hanging onto me<br />
    I’m pretty damn easy<br />
    To shake free<br />
    And I have to ask<br />
    Are you really as distant <br />
    As you portray to be?<br />
    <br />
    Ok well I’ve had more than my say<br />
    I’d best be running on my way<br />
    And you can just let me know <br />
    When this girl of jealousy obscene<br />
    Is allowed back into the<br />
    The MEN’S poetry dream<br />

  9. Honey

    Honey on 01/20/2006 1:32 a.m. #

    <br />
    And here is the alternate male appeasing post<br />
    <br />
    You win<br />
    Silly me<br />
    To try and curb<br />
    Your poetry

  10. Mike Fletcher

    Mike Fletcher on 01/20/2006 5:59 a.m. #

    Done it again you distant lout<br />
    Too-clever words thought little out<br />
    Seeking not but clever turn<br />
    To draw the laughter out<br />
    Be clearer in your speech<br />
    Or why speak in structured notes?<br />
    <br />
    Love is the hope of the universe<br />
    It is what allows our hearts to bind<br />
    Love the wonder and potential<br />
    Of the limitless future worlds<br />
    Love the blazing sun on green fields<br />
    Love fathers walking with their babies<br />
    Love quiet conversations in cafes<br />
    Love the babble of languages<br />
    On the crowded noonday street<br />
    Love the pounding rain on your face<br />
    Love the blistering sand upon your feet<br />
    Love the seething complexity<br />
    Of strings in twelve dimensions<br />
    Twisting all that we can see<br />
    <br />
    There is tragedy and loss here<br />
    Death stands behind every door<br />
    Cruel and stupid people mill around<br />
    Intent on some destructive war<br />
    Yet hold hope in your troubled heart<br />
    Hope is a gentle flame I know<br />
    But something has to melt the ice<br />
    Antipathy and hatred cannot stand<br />
    If we are to untie the warring land<br />
    Spring must come and ice-jams break<br />
    The power and potential of humanity<br />
    Must be remembered and brought forth<br />
    To crack the veils of hatred wroth<br />
    We must cling to the nobless of man<br />
    To the wonder and majesty we are<br />
    Or risk an uncaught fall into the dust<br />
    <br />
    And as for you dear sun-lit reader<br />
    Why assume the darkest tone<br />
    Have I so often been in earnest<br />
    That my jests are falling down<br />
    I've written odes to thank you<br />
    For your kind and gentle words<br />
    Perhaps I am too distant<br />
    In my cold and far-off land<br />
    That every word intended<br />
    Warps with ice and halts your heart<br />
    Relax, I've no plans to drop you<br />
    Upon the frozen ground<br />
    Just because another reader<br />
    Likes the patter of words' sound

  11. Honey

    Honey on 01/21/2006 9:05 a.m. #

    <br />
    How many lives lost <br />
    Accredit to the account of words?<br />
    Is someone keeping tab of the cost?<br />
    I think there should be records on<br />
    <br />
    Words misunderstood<br />
    <br />
    Words misappropriated<br />
    <br />
    Words misused <br />
    <br />
    Words misread<br />
    <br />
    Or just unintended… <br />
    <br />
    What better rates<br />
    To check the balance for me<br />
    Than a relative dose of reality<br />
    <br />

  12. Honey

    Honey on 01/21/2006 9:09 a.m. #

    <br />
    Dig dig dig<br />
    Dig your way into a hole<br />
    Toss dirt here, toss dirt there<br />
    Toss it anywhere without care<br />
    <br />
    Dig dig dig<br />
    Dig your way out of the hole<br />
    Stack it here, stack it there<br />
    It takes a little more industry<br />
    To construct the stair<br />

  13. Honey

    Honey on 01/21/2006 9:13 a.m. #

    <br />
    Hmm<br />
    These last few pages<br />
    I just don’t like<br />
    I now rue the notion <br />
    To explore emotion<br />
    That brought to the page<br />
    Such heady commotion<br />
    <br />
    I feel the book <br />
    Should be better without<br />
    So I’ve a mind to rip them out<br />
    Leaving a jagged edge between<br />
    For future readers to inspect<br />
    And be left to wonder about<br />
    <br />
    ….tempting though as it is<br />
    The pages scream at me <br />
    ‘Sacrilege’ <br />

  14. Mike Fletcher

    Mike Fletcher on 01/21/2006 4:11 p.m. #

    I dig in the blotting sands<br />
    Mopping up spent ink<br />
    Yet still I let the blood run red<br />
    Gathered at my feet<br />
    Some day I'll uncover wisdom<br />
    Then those steps begin to carve<br />
    From out this pit of stinking clay<br />
    For now the iron mud will cling<br />
    To my pain-covered hands<br />
    Deeper down with steeper walls<br />
    I'll dig my pit of sand<br />
    In some quixotic quest of mine<br />
    To find rumoured treasures of the land

Comments are closed.


Pingbacks are closed.