Quivering Quill

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Each time I write I hear a voice opine:
"Take not one grain of salt from what you say,
nor cover it with saccharine or wine.
This is no time for bards to hide away."

The urgency which underscores that word
instils the verveful sinews of my verse —
to every highest mountain I am stirred;
all doubts of my ambitions are dispersed.
But yet the ruddy feathers of my quill
are quivering with fateful finitude
in case my soaring strophes should be distilled
and not reflect the wishes of the Muse.
   For if my words should seek a valley's lee,
   to compromise I will have bent my knee.

◄ Ghostword Graveyard

Facets of Friendship, Part 1: "Friends Lite" ►

Comments

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Alan Morrison

Sat 16th Jul 2011 05:58

Very kind of you to say so, Stella.

Concerning the "they" you mention... well... I'm so gald that you do not agree with them. May their ears turn into arseholes and shit all over their shoulders (old Arab curse! :-) Or, as I said once in a poem called "Captive Phoenix:

Fuck the rules, I say.
They aren't really rules anyway.
Some fossilised turds
carve their ossified words
into pseudo-granite structures
which —
at any conjuncture
of history's golden chain —
t h e y
decide should be
the
only
umbrella
in the rain.

Indeed! ;-)

<Deleted User> (6315)

Fri 15th Jul 2011 22:55

they say (who they are I am not sure) that poets should not write about writing.

I do not agree.

Your sonnet is full of life and colour and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it out loud too..

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