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The Poet's Tale
Contributed by
liquidsunshine
on
Monday, 2nd January 2006 @ 05:06:10 PM in AEST
Topic:
MiscPoems
|
Im a poet with an ink and pen
The world inspires beyond my ken.
I watch the earth spin round and round
But an idle block confounds
Me and so I waste away.
Each thought has just decayed.
I failed my last years resolution
To clear my mind of blocked pollution.
No blossom, not a bloom
Is born of my minds womb
And so I sit dejected
For each poem that Ive subjected
To the paper doesnt fit.
The emotions wont transmit
The way they feel to me, inside
So I discard them, for my pride.
A fear Ill never write again
Has brought me here, out of my den
And here Ive got a tale like you.
Let me share my story, too.
This tale is a most lovely one
Dating to when the earth had begun
Tis of the first of artists who
All their inspiration drew
From all the glories one can find
In natures pleasures, simple minds.
Painters captured sunlights rays,
The times between the nights and days
Or an innocent childs tiny face.
Sculptors molded each fancy vase
In shapes much like fair female curves
Purpose and beauty, each piece serves.
Jewelers fashioned lavish things
After feathers, scales, and insects wings.
They slaved to capture color, light,
The warmth of day, the depth of night.
In all the world they could find beauty.
To re-create it was their duty.
They stopped to smell each single rose
And managed something to compose.
Singers sang about the breeze
That, much like God, nobody sees.
Dancers mimicked prancing fawns
And springs that tickle bubbling ponds.
Musicians made the sounds of thunder
Of birds, trees, skies, each noise there under.
Playwrights scenes depicted love
And every gory mishap thereof.
Story tellers fabricated
Tales of how things were created.
They pondered who, what, when and why.
If no one knew, theyd tell a lie.
They asked the sky why it was blue
And brought conjectures back to you.
The certain green that colors grass,
They wondered how, surmisedalas!
Such questions brought about great art.
Early artists were clever, smart.
They all knew to appreciate
The simple things that make life great.
Their passions were like burning fire
That to this day, my soul inspires.
A shame to know theyre dead and gone,
A blessing that their works live on.
An artist now in modern day
Should model themselves in their ways,
Think outside the so-called box
And see the mountain, not just the rocks.
I am very sure that none of you
Have quite enjoyed the lovely view
The way those artists did back then,
Of course I dont expect it, friends.
Although you see now with my anecdote
How Ive no paddle for my boat,
How I must strive hard to find a muse
Because theres subjects sparse from which to choose
If Im to become like artists of old
Ive got to search for perfect, gold!
No, second best will never do
Ive got to find the greatest cue,
The very best, the brightest treasure,
Something of illustrious measure!
Still I fear Ill never write poetry so grand
As what came through the early artists hand.
Yes, Im up poets creek without an oar
Not one thing to write and no hope for
A living made of beloved art
It seems Ive lost before my start.
With poems so few and far between
My book is empty, pages clean.
I fear I may have to start over
Become a cook, move back to Dover.
Prove my friends and parents right.
They told me Id nothing to write.
This gathering here, this celebration
Is my last hope for inspiration,
My last chance for a revelation
To kick start a brand new years creation.
So, tell your tales, the rest of you!
Perhaps Ill find a poem or two
Among the things you have to say
This night before the New Year s Day.
Ill listen hard and stay alert
So as not to miss a single word.
Inspire me, I beg you please
Beseech my ink to flow with ease!
Copyright ©
liquidsunshine
... [
2006-01-02 17:06:10]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: The Poet's Tale
(User Rating: 1 )
by Willofree on
Tuesday, 3rd January 2006 @ 12:56:28 PM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
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Very well expressed; and you are certainly not alone in your struggle to create and write.
However, I think you are focused too much on how good your write might be rather then centering on what you feel and want to express. There is a lot of really good imagery.
Good write, within your own words there is insight.
Will
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