hounded by Poetry

The Invisible hand

                      hounded by Poetry

get back

you f*****g dog

and eat s**t

like the rest of us

a rabid beast

of wordage

licking my a*****e

t-bagging my brain

"please release me,

I'll be good,"

you will die in solitary confinement , 

ya f*****g

               f*****g prick

"be gentle, tickle and

                           tease me,

entice me,

no-one knows the ending

not even me,"

and the bong said 

                       "wrong,

I am the true voice

    I am the bard

                 the poet

come write mystic meanderings

                  with me

             in stoned acceptance

of the word",

   the pen decides

m**********r

"I direct the hand"

                     ghost writers

         in the sky

      " the pen is

my puppet,"

                        says the hand,

"none of us expected that,"

              thought the muse,

Reviews

[barleygirl]

You are original & creative & outside-the-dots & empassioned . . . I'm truly envious. You express what hundreds of writers express on this website every year, bemoaning the muse, but you make our scribbles feel drab & mundane. This narrator has the spunk to fight back . . . me, I succumb to whatever the muse insists I write. Hey, it's a leap year . . . will you marry me? *wink! wink!* (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[gram linski]

you pick the weirdest places to popup, Margie, haha, you have no idea how tempting that offer is, wink wink,

[Beccy]

No good railing at the dog, it will have its way, no matter what. Best to hound the poem, much more productive. :))

Beccy.

[gram linski]

not exactly sure what that means, but thanks for reading and possibly enjoying,

[Beccy]

Sorry gram, bit vague I was, in interpreting mode; which is when I know what I'm on about and forget that others can't read my mind.

Your poem put me in mind of when the muse goes missing and the words just don't come. It is then, it seems, that what remains within haunts us, or perhaps more accurately taunts for us release; and then finally, when the words do arrive, they come thick and fast.

More than once I have frantically scribbled down a verse, then thought, where did that come from? The answer of course, being the 'invisible hand,' that lies within all poets.

And yes, I did enjoy it

[gram linski]

thanks, Beccy, aye you are spot on, I've had similar talks with other poets and it seems to be a common occurrence/curse, do you think it is the same omnipotent invisible hand guiding us all, how cool would that be

[Beccy]

Yes, I think it is. I mean, what makes us turn left instead of right, when we have no conscious idea where either path might lead.

[Dennis Shanaberg]

A hateful little poem that I can very much relate to.
Sometimes, having a passion for prose and poetry can feel more like a burden than anything.
Just vented in a piece about this myself, so I can more than relate to these words

[gram linski]

thanks for reading Dennis, didn't think it was that hateful myself, but will check out your rant at some point ,over the wkend thanks again

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Ok this is a new one on me. A poet who has self stimulated erotic sensations from writing poetry! And anal at that!
A piece full of vitriolic, angry, angst, venom filled words that drip from the page.

[gram linski]

haha, anally self stimulated erotic sensations from poetry, how I have missed you dude, xoxoxo