Road under Broken Wings

John Everett Millais, "Autumn Leaves".

John Everett Millais, “Autumn Leaves”. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

We met in days of graying gold

When dust should rise and dust should fall

And some fair mortal hope scampered bird-like along a road,

Borne on weighted winds no one could hold.

 

Years later we would find

At every twisting of the path

A certain comradery in the faded kind

Of broken wings too proud for wrath.

 

And though we had no coin to share

And too long, each, in winter fear expend

With horizon clear and air set upon a prayer

We shall yet know ourselves to be worthy of a friend.

* Footnote: The words are there, the path is set before me–I would not say this is a final piece as yet, but a work in the right direction. I welcome any commentary you may have upon it, for it came plucked unbidden from my thoughts just this morning, and shall yet by evening’s light be honed, I think.

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Circular

Entwined

as feathered flock upon the breeze

somewhat less divine in our declined

pirouettes toward the seas—

these claws are not unbloodied,

these beaks, they aims to ache,

but though our flight be muddied

our crosses yet shall never break,

for neither I, nor you

can take the pain we bring,

but far worse the silence would accrue

without that other voice to sing.

The Writer’s Muse

Gustave Moreau's, Hesiod and the Muse (1891)

This week, I’ve been dwelling a lot on the concept of the muse, particularly owing to the fact that a person I once took to be the physical embodiment of my own muse recently dropped out of my life  in any meaningful manner.

Necessities, in life, I suppose…but it does hurt to see such dramatic shifts in relations with others. To watch yourself drift entirely out of someone else’s life. Particularly when the creative in you recoils from the blow, in such horror…

This week’s quotes, thusly, are based on the concept of the muse, as shall my submission for One Shot Wednesday tomorrow. Enjoy.

“Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.
~Edmund Waller

“O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.
~William Shakespeare

“A muse can be a mirror: a reflection of the artist’s desires, anxieties, dreams and needs.
~Vince Aletti

Like a Brother

It’s a little melancholy and certainly, I think, not my best work, but the following, “Like a Brother,” is my piece for today. Any suggestions? Post away.

Classic Friendship.

I am your prisoner,

the aluminum cage is as grating as your flesh–

torture, I see, in each crossing of your legs,

deliberate porcelain tactics, smoothing out the cause

as your apartment beckons.

The car, idling in reverse, waits

as I smile into my sentence, hands shaking

as I execute the timeless dance.

No other can compare, my lips sing praise unto thy beauty,

but if your ears hear it, your lips pretend,

deliberately pursing, calculated condescension

as you remind of the value of a friend–

turn head and flee into your night.

I sit, stupidly watching, that valued friendship fly

into another’s arms, waiting for the look –

and no look –

No, stupid, no – she doesn’t care –

love, that brother’s love spells

an end to love, no lust tonight–

soul shrinks at heart’s bite.

* My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well–they’re a skilled bunch of poets, with a strong and supportive community.  Enjoy! And while you’re at it – vote for us in the Shorty Awards…we have a chance to take Number 1 in Art!