Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Tuesday, January 11, 2022

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. 


a quadrille for Dverse


  1. LMAO. Perfect skewering, my dear. All the words that mean "I don't get it and I don't really care' or as we used to say in the old Jingle days, "Love yours, here's mine!" Love the tags.

  2. Shay, I must confess that you have left me a muse.

    All best!
    David [ben Alexander]

  3. Whew! And woo!
    First of all, my eyes are so happy to have read the word "trebuchets" today, I cannot even tell you.
    And "fauxku" is fantastic.

    I also see "critic rants." Rat-faced talk-talk-talk. I once wrote something about not taking feedback from "someone who writes only in red..." ;)

  4. You had me at the first line. It's dirty in these-here trenches!

  5. ...and worst of all, is all the mass graves i have to dig, you'd think they'da run out of greek myth to throw at me, but no.

    fauxku (grin)

  6. Fantastic punch of an opening. The whole of the first five lines just swept me up into the poem, some of my favourite imagery from this prompt.

  7. It's a dirty work being a poet... not only dirt in those trenches but blood and carnage.

  8. From the very first word to the last, wonderful! Such diamond choice images. Love all the lines but these lines:

    "The Angry Jealous with their ridiculous trebuchets lobbing
    plague corpses of crappy fauxku at our ducked heads"

    Wonderful, Shay :-)

  9. Wow that was a pow in the kisser to life and critics for sure!! It is a dirty and rough job but somebody has to do it! Who better than a poet as amazingly talented as you Shay!

  10. I can smell the stench of those rotten corpses flying through the air. There’s no where to hide from the crippling onslaught in this piece. You don’t mince words. You stick it to them like a rusty bayonet.


Spirit, what do you wish to tell us?