"ambrosiac" poems
Truly gifted poets
Straddle their crafts early on
Some even in adolescence
They have been cursed or blessed
To be kings and queens of utterance.
I never dreamed of becoming a poet
It was furthest from my mind
Then in a sudden twist of eardrum
It happened in my Mid-thirties.
Out of the recesses of Time
Came the lure and a hook
Shining in enchanted brook
And before i knew it
My heart was snatched
And my movements flustered
When i bit on ambrosiac bait
Drenched in Muse's wine
Drugged and drunk
On sounds and images
I struggled in a pool of words
To assemble what held me infused
To make sense of orphaned views
Swaying between shade and light
Like dancers deprived of audience.
My poetic rapture began
In frenetic rain of ink
preposterous in direction
A poetaster rapt on vapid rhymes
With sounds of poetic crimes
But my craft developed
In piecemeal fashion
And rendered my pen composed.
A minnow of long ago
Has grown into a mackerel
And longs to become a whale
In the ocean Ars Poetica
Though it seems a pipe dream.
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 1:09 AM UTC
Feelings are an ambrosiac poison
All I want is more
And more
I drink and gulp until it dribbles down my chin
Then I lap up what’s on the floor
Like a desperate dog
Because my belly is a jug
Empty
But that means full of air
The air is polluted
I want it replaced
With hurt
With care
With sadness
With euphoria
With anything
Yet the feelings I consume are artificial at best
Weighing me down like edible lead
As I know their impermanence
And the inevitable repetition of the cycle
Tomorrow my stomach is yet again empty
And I shall scramble to fill it
Defining insanity
In doing the same thing
Hoping for something new
Feb 5, 2018
Feb 5, 2018 at 12:59 PM UTC