Inspiration

Truth or Dare

Love hangs in the balance,

                     of an everlasting truce.

 

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How to catch a Judge’s eye?

There must be something in it

Some method – some madness

Some sacrificial ritual to evoke

To claim their eyes and ears

Sew them to my words

And raise my vision

From the grave of poet tears

In July I will write,

I shall carve out my heart

Paint only by the light

Of a weeping orange candle

I will relinquish all ink

To glean admiration

Soak parchment in hope

With this incantation

By the waxing fingernail

Of an August moon

I will pray to all Gods

For answers back soon

I will bake lots of cookies

Bare all of my secrets

Stitch buttons on poppets

Post each judge to keep it

I could stalk them on twitter

Devour their heroes

Smuggle a cheque

With several zeros

Bribe them with candy

Kidnap their cat
Sneak in some Semtex
And that would be that

Oh what am I thinking
Oh where has this led
I can’t share this poem
That’s stuck in my head!

 

My Muse

 

It’s as if you make my fingers type somehow
Lure thoughts from my lips, staining the paper
– with inspiration
There are days when you tire me
Incessantly driving my mind forward
Creating strings of words ,that take form
Just a line or two at first
Then suddenly a whole cacophony
Of symphonies: the muse in triumph
And unbeknownst to most, you sit
Perched firmly in my chest
Your voice at the forefront of my mind

Go on, you say
Write it – write it all out
Write it for me

Costa is King

Quite possibly the largest number of singletons or loners found within one group at any one time. This quaint little coffee shop, a hive of activity for writers and readers alike. They swarm from trains and buses, tumble in from the street to find themselves a lone corner or quiet table from which to write their lives on the pages. Words conjoining to find meaning within inked lines, a master watching the beauty, as they swirl into being, taking form in their growth. Gnashing and gnarling, devouring everything in proximity before their inevitable death; then a refill of espresso to help the writer’s block.

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Image: Pixabay

The Monster Within

It calls to me at night,
The beast shrouded in darkness.
Silent calls echoing in my mind,
Reverberate through my heart
And pierce my soul.

Each night he lays,
At the foot of my bed,
Waiting until my thoughts drift.
Only then will he pounce,
Tearing ideas, limb from limb
Allowing only tattered dreams.

Then in the morning, he sleeps.
Content in his role, fulfilled
Leaving me only with fragments.
Scorched cinders of denial.
Crushed bastions of brilliance,
Fallen around my feet.

 

Happy Anniversary Ginni Bites

Apparently today is the three year anniversary of my blog. I don’t have a special poem prepared or anything and it was a nice little surprise that it remembered at all.

Though, I would like to give out my thanks to everyone who has read, liked, commented on my posts over the years: it really does mean more than I can express. You guys are awesome, especially those who seem like dependable online friends, interaction with you all has been something I never expected.

I may not always be active or extra talkative but I do appreciate you and your blogs, and your wonderful prompts and inspiration. Long may they continue to keep me sane (ish) as I pour over your words and in turn leave you with mine.

Thank you all, and in the words of a great muse.

Namaste *winks*

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