Skip to main content

**A Poets Cry to the Muses by Mariah Pompa

Mariah Pompa



An explosion of creation,
firing synapses,

thoughts always come back to this,

Sometimes in a burst of color,
Others with the spark of a wet match,

small inconsistent yet dire for my survival,

I have an IV of ink yet it still runs dry,
a clogged artery or two won't let these thoughts through,

How can I be me,
how can I be free,
how can I release these thoughts,

For some reason I can't and it drags on for days,

It all bubbles down to frustration and rage,
Cause I can't get a damn word on a page!!,

I'm getting desperate now,
I long for that part of me,
Come what may it's at the heart of me,

I beg you, Erato, Euterpe, Calliope!!,
Give me a sign!,

These words keep spinning and spinning,
Cluttering up my mind,

I will have no peace till this mind finds a remedy,
Falling out of rhyme,
Stuttering over every line,

Its lost its tempo,
But I guess that's fine,

I've written this mess and this mess is Mine.


















Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

short fable series: Petereleon by Mariah Pompa

Oh little me I seem to have grown, Growling under tables, I am now throwing my self in to fables, Bleeding so many words instead of reading them, Chicken scratch has morphed into Times New Roman, Clean cut documents are beyond the graphite stained pages, My old self isn't quite so grown though, I still growl under my breath and my fingers are still dirty, Imagination still dominates my thoughts from 7:45 to 12:30, They're quicker, All consuming, leaving me frazzled, There's no hope to contain them I just gotta get them all out, I try different styles and rhymes but still find a simple kind are best, So yeah little me I've branched out quite a bit, No longer bound to just the tall grass I've suddenly  grown wings, Not a griffin or eagle I seem to have grown into something else in between, Something ferocious, curious, and playful, Maybe not a sphinx whispering riddles, Dark mane with tanned wings, A creature longing for some kind ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Door Poems: Getting there by Mariah Pompa

Just reach for it, You've worked for this, Dressed up for this, filled out enough damned paper work for this, The cool metal slips through your sweaty fingers, A quick swipe on your pant leg saves face, The handle clicks against the ring on your finger, You may have a heart attack before you know,  Your chest aches at that thought, Adjusting the knot in your tie, Lighten the load, Take the handle, its time to go.
Post a Comment
Read more

Morbid poetry part 2: The Pack by mariah pompa

Poetry 3 2017 Mariah Pompa 4/28/17                                                                        The Pack The trees tremble, Branches creak, A thunderous sound, Bloodied feet, The resounding pulse, All of one mind, Snow stained red, Sharp teeth shine, The air won’t hold, Always gasping for breath, Jaws ache, Fingers claw, Remains of the kill,   Bloody maws, Howling with pride, The pack runs on,    Man and beast collide.
Post a Comment
Read more