Muse
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You had me at first glance
You gave me more than just a chance
You lit a fire in me that I can never defuse
You are the artist that became my muse
My friends, the most beautiful poems
Written with sweet words are surprisingly new
My saying is not to bugger neither Alfred de Musset
Sweet bludgeoned muse
Perplexed in youth
And made to hide away
These points of view
Deflect our hue
In the march toward imminent decay
When my muse ingnitesVerse that excitesThen you have meDead to rights—I'm a poet!.
.© 2020 Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
you are a work of art.
from far away, you look absolutely perfect.
but when i'm standing in front of you, all of your gritty details show themselves loud and clear.
Words rattle inside my head, and remain unsaid. Why can't I seem to get them out? It's as though my brain is having a drought. I sit and ponder as what to say. Such silence from my inner muse, brings such dismay.
The MoonA light to the lostA hope to the brokenA lover to the romanticsA muse for the artists
The muse.
It stems from the inside
When searched for outside.
The muse.
It is in the form
Not in the function.
The muse.
It is in the fancy
Rather than the facts.
It was after the worst friendship breakup of my life
When I found you along the shelves in the old high school building.
You sat there, collected dust, and sighed in waiting.
It used to be the storm.
A hurricane surrounding me
until I couldn’t breathe;
The world spinning and collapsing
Not hearing a single sound
Being in love with you
The poem discovers it’s own words
The art creates new colours
The music plays itself
The dream comes a reality
Every time I look at you
I keep my poems
Close to my heart
You told me that
I could share them
With the world if
I really wanted to.
She is a song,
On an out-of-tune piano,
And though I know,
That she is worng,
All she needs,
Is a bit of tuning,
And a bit of refining,
And then she can sound,
Exactly how,
Why is it that the best muses are love and pain?
Because they are strong.
Why do people feel them so easily?
If I were an artist
and you were my muse
I'd paint you a thousand times
so I could hear your voice
for a million years
I'd paint you with gold
like the stars in the sky
There are powerful men, who are capable of powerful things
They can be corrupted, liberated, forged, or born…
Liberated, corrupted, forged, or born…
Born, corrupted, forged, or liberated…
It doesn’t make any sense,
No one told me
that I would suffer
for the muse.
I wake up;
I think of her.
I write;
I think of her.
I eat, drink, sleep;
I think of her.
She never thinks of me.
I’ve traced the veins up your arms
The angles of your jaw
The slope of your cheekbones
The basin of your forehead
The curves of your sides
The length of your limbs
Over and over
Again and again
Dawn has never been my muse
Though my spring to her may disagree
A slumber sweet and succulent
Brings unwanted tendencies
To wake I must for day has come
A friend or foe she be
Your face in between these thunderous thighs
Guiding me on an ascent to cloud nine on the way to meet the most high
In between these sheets is where our love lies.
I am nothing but a poet , a musea creator of spoken art
manipulator of words ; so when I speak them your heart moves with sway
There are places
that can never be trasversed
There are ideas
that can never be spoken
There are emotions
that can never be expressed
directly.
But every moment is a passing,
I need a muse
The ringmaster of imagination
Trailing art behind its wedding dress as applause waits at the altar
Who not only glows beneath moonlit skies and thundering nights
she is composed of many piecesshe has been angel's wings, and the figure of a goddess, and words written to long lost loversshe has been a cry for help, a dying breath, a symphonyshe has been so many different things that she can no longer tell wh
Have some respect.It isn't her fault.You expected too much.Experienced much too little.
Like a felineComing and goingShe toys with you
You allow it...You masochist.
I would take with me, only the thing that sets me free,
If you became tansparent when the sound filled your ears,
you would understand what I mean when I say that's all I want to hear.
You say you love music
I see your eyes light up
The way you bounce to the beat
And your smile
God how you smile
But what you don't know
Is that I love music too
I lost another poemthis morningin the early airbetween my home and my carI failed to net itput it in my poem jarit flew awaywill it be aroundsomewhereover therewhen I get back?
O Muse, take pity one me! For I cannot retell half as well as thee!
Daedalus, Daedalus, creator of many the glorious thing,
Daedalus, Daedalus, the one who gave Man wing,
In Crete, that wretched place,
You stay up late with your coffee filled veins,As I scribble down your name.And baby, I dream with my eyes open,I can't ever be the same.
I hold my tongue because it’s proper,
And back out because I’ll lose.
I’m frightened at the idea,
That the world will hate my views.
I feel like I can't runaway anymore.
I've been running too long.
Searching high, hiding low...
She believes in self expression,
Righteous Writing,
Speaking out.
She knows that your transgression
Awaits in hiding
In the words behind your mouth
She understands that it has meaning.
I have a thought on my mind
and a hunger in my core,
I need to fill up my heart before it’s over.
I need to see the pressure rise
just as I escape demise--
Everyone has a different form of expression
everyone is their own piece of art.
walking, living, breathing art
But what perplexes me so is that they never get to see themselves
through someone else's eyes.
And what exactly do I do?
I’ve played the game to it's extent
And know the plays to their purest form,
But now I am left defenseless,
Or offense-less in this case.
There is no deception,
"I like big books and I cannot lie"..
And poems that especially rhyme
My escape as a child and in time,
An escape from the "Me" I spent years trying to find.
Holding on to the words of the pages
Lets write poetryAllow my words to penetrate your linesSoftly whisper the scratches of pen on paperuntil I have fully covered you in inkAllow me to be your guide
This is a forum of confessions, my first impression leave lasting impressions, my expressions aren’t always impressive, so my expressions are in question but for the record my expression comes in different forms in the feeling I hoard
I am the poet,You are my muse.You don’t yet know it,But I have a fuse.
Everything that you say,Everything that you do,Affects me in some way,But which way? I’ve no clue.
There's just somethin
Bout the beat of a drum,
An acoustic guitar,
The way a man strums
That touches my heart
And moves my feet,
Always making me
Feel the beat
The cowboy boots
Have you ever just looked out and saw everything you couldn't formulate an explanation to
captured through the simple essence of nature
For instance take this cruise,
Moments of clarity;
You offer me.
Enlighten my mind,
Through my darkness.
Thoughts and words;
Connections I fail to grasp;
You ease me.
Never fail to offer a release
From the demons
My Dear,
You say you can't write.
When you speak - your voice -
Your words, erratic - halting
Shine of Emily Dickinson,
Unexpected - but lovely all the same.
We each have a well inside of us,
filled with exhilaration and craze.
It is our driving force.
It is the host of every moral and desire we once entertained.
It is the common truth that connects us all,
Tell me, Muse, of the boy with the red backpack
Walking with a swagger in the diversity-filled Queens.
Tell me how the bus would take him through the noise
To his serene, tree-lined block just off Hillside Avenue,
You, mother, are the object of my appreciation.
You have brought me into this strange world,
Leaving me to explore with bright eyes and no sense of direction
The fresh air being inhaled into my tiny lungs for the first time
Oh dear Muse, I don’t know your name, I can’t see your face,
But your silent words, inspire me to chase my dreams.
Because of your weightless pull, I will take another step.
Because of your gentle hand, I will never stray.
The brush of life paints a beautiful peice of work depending on how the artist reacts to the changes of the canvis.Using paints better known as emotions the stroke of hands that have seen both death and life within the same year glide with grace.
You seduced me.
Drew me in
played me for the fool
and I bit
took the bait
tried to dart away
only driving the hook
in deeper
Freedom: The power or right to act, think or speak as one wants without hindrance or restraint.
Ask me am I free. It’s what our people fought so hard to be.
Raped by the master so now our children are born into slavery.
When the world surrounds you to bind your evolution
Break free
Break free from the people who mock your ambitions and belittle your dreams
Don’t let them tell you that your not meant to be brilliant
To be someone's inspiration, desire and success.
To be their muse, have a connection and inner bliss.
A sentimental passion, I want that.
A person worth a thousand words
A soul so clean and pure
A smile pulls one forever towards
His laughter the best cure
