Word-Play

******

they come like a passel of noisy children

invading dreams of saint and sinner

interrupting, impervious to love-making 

death-bed or candled dinner

 

they can pout in abject silence

slipping down the road of  chased thoughts , 

fragmented, demented, mocking from afar,

not easily bartered or bought

 

still the ragged poet bleeds and longs

for the  jagged muse’s holy songs.

******

©WabiSabi 2013 

 
Shared with d’Verse Poets ‘open link night’
 
 
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16 thoughts on “Word-Play

  1. I love this line (and the whole poem):

    “still the ragged poet bleeds and longs for the jagged muse’s holy songs.”

    I wait like the second fiddle on a Friday night for my phone to ring. Do I have time? Now? Of course. Come right over. Pen and paper? Well no. But I can write on my bedroom wall with my blood.

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  2. hey come like a passel of noisy children

    invading dreams of saint and sinner

    interrupting, impervious to love-making

    death-bed or candled dinner

    This is the quintessential explanation of the process of writing. i really enjoyed
    thank you one more time really funny and well written

    Like

  3. ha aint that the truth….i def look for the song…no matter how many times she burns my fingers….smiles…..i like the thought of them as a passel of noisy children…ha…true that…thats why i got to get them out of my head…smiles..

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  4. Perfect! The cadence is there as it grounds the experience truthfully. I like the noisy playfulness of the first stanza and the quiet pouting of the second, incorrigible either way and very much alive. Can’t live without them!

    Like

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