Muse

I came across you in my dreams last night

I heard you speak in hushed tones.

Sleep departed from my tired eyes

And I whispered back , "Here I am".

 

During the day you wrestle with wayword words
And in the darkness of night you struggle within
the puzzle-piece labyrinth of your dreams.

"Why do you keep my inspiration apart from me?"

And like Jacob, I struggled heroically,

Determined to take back my wayward words,

At least until my Muse goes away with my dreams.

 

Reviews

[J. Hampton]

An intriguing rendition of the search for ones' muse
So many have written on this...

Love the analogy to Jacob

Keep wrestling for it don't we ?
we must....

ironically it haunts us from sleep
and eludes us by day

Font change and bolding...really made the irony pop

Blesssssssssssss

[cest la vie]

Simply beautiful... Really Beautiful...

[Creepy Swine Guy]

Elusive ... beautiful words ... people ... always seem so elusive. Just beyond our grasp. Yet sometimes, somehow, we manage to clutch those words if not those people. And then we sleep, then our muse allows us sleep.

You seize your share of those beautiful words.

[Stiver]

Yo Em, this is good. I also love the analogy to Jacob. But what I loved more was the narrator's struggle.

I may have read this a little differently than the intended meaning, but I love these three lines:

--"Why do you keep my inspiration apart from me?"

And like Jacob, I struggled heroically,

Determined to take back my wayward words,--

It's almost like the narrator goes out on a limb, reluctant and scared, but finally get 's the courage to say, "Hey, by the way, why do you keep my inspiration from me?" Then, the narrator, sensing that he/she has pissed off "the forces", retreats, "determined to take back my wayward words."

Thanks for sharing, Em!!

[Chris Zahar]

Well, reading this, I certainly don't know why anyone would criticize you. You're style is beautiful and your subject matter is an original rendition of a subject that has been told many times before. It most western symbolism is it the muse who HELPS a person create great art. "Finding one's muse" means "finding the part of you that makes great art". However, in the case of this poem, it's your muse who's keeping your creativity away from you. Like some cruel, teenager hanging a piece of steak in front of a starving dog, only to pull it away as soon as the poor creatures wet snout comes within centimeters of it, this muse keeps you from the creativity that you so valiantly struggle for.

In another case of pure irony, your struggle to find your creativity turns out to be the very fuel which empowered this poem. Had your muse not tormented you so much by keeping your creativity away from you, than this poem would not have existed. So perhaps, you muse, like all other traditional muses, was, in actuality, helping you all along.

This poem is the perfect example of finding the world in a grain of sand. On the outside it looks very simple. You're writing about anything that Stephan King didn't write about in "The Shining" (writers block). Yet within this overtly simplistic piece lies hundreds of great contradictions and ironies (the muse hurting instead of helping but helping in the end even while hurting) that could tease the minds of philosophers and literary critics until their brains turn to a soft, putrid goo.

[Touché Armada]

Love it.. I know to you it's not disjointed at all, its as smooth as silk and as clear as polished crystal.. But it seems that way ever so slightly to the on looker.. But that doesn't matter.. Because as an on looker its easy to be introspective with a write like this and try to place for a moment ones own struggle with the odd odd muse that comes in dreams or silly thoughts.. That little part of ourselves that we know and is a stranger all at once.... Wayword words,, Oh yessss.. this is sweet.

Interesting form. I liked how you brought reality by using bold fonts. This is a good play on form.

A good read.

[Static C]

Ever get the feeling you should put paper and pencil by the bed ? Of course thats the point. Those of us who learn how to obsess over our creation suffer from dreams that somehow keep us awake until Its time to try and remember.

[Blackbirdsong]

I think we've probably all had a poem or story come to us in our dreams and it was wonderful, more wonderful than anything we've ever written...we think we can remember it until we wake...but it never happens. This poem reminded me of that and that constant wrestling we do with ourselves daily. Great job.

[An Ordinary Woman]

Perfect Emily. It seemed to happen over night while we were sleeping, just like a thief in the night.
Yet here we are, sharing our words again. I'm saddened, but even more I'm letting this inspire me.

I'm happy to see this here today.