Vox Humana

 

My voice slipped out as I slept,

taking the path between rows of white narcissus

to the upturned boat, just port side and starboard side,

no deck, no keel, with the world below and beyond.

It had normally slept in the blanket of my throat,

silent, cupped in a chrysalis.

Now it went up and down upon the earth

filterless, making many enemies, there when I awoke.

I hid my voice inside a bell, but it was only louder.

I stuffed it in the pages of a newspaper, but caged birds repeated everything.

I set it in the hands of my lover, and my lover left, cursing.

I hid it in the sound hole of a guitar and it spoke in every language.

I taught it manners and it died of boredom.

I taught it doublespeak and it ran for high office.

I taught it sanctimony and it attracted a congregation.

I taught it flattery and it was beloved. 

Desperate, I taught it poetry and it lay down again in my throat

where my bones fell in love with it.

A doctor diagnosed the shaking as palsy

and prescribed a pilgrimage to Branson or Las Vegas.

_________

for Challenge #1 Desperate Poetry. 

Music: Leonard Cohen A Singer Must Die

We Are Not A Muse

 Muse on this, motherfucker.

We, down in the poetic trenches with our wet feet,

sniping critic-rats,

and The Angry Jealous with their ridiculous trebuchets lobbing 

plague corpses of crappy fauxku at our ducked heads

don't want to hear about it. 

Incoming!

intriguing

interesting

smiles.

__________

a quadrille for Dverse. 

fine.

A struggling author approached his friend William Ross Wallace who sometimes listened to the author's "not yet published poetical work".

"Wallace, I have just written the greatest poem that ever was written." Wallace listened and pronounced it "fine."

"Fine? Is that all?"

The author? Poe.

The poem? "The Raven."

He made nine dollars from it.
______

source: "The Beautiful Cigar Girl" by Daniel Stashower.

55 fine, nice, interesting words for G Man.