Monday, 5 November 2012

The Muse


Charis, Lake Ediza, California, 1937 by Edward Weston
Searching for the stars
she found la Luna.
His muse, moonstruck
amuses him.
His art is science,
he cerebrates,
dines on word salad
washed down
with the want of her.

Urine soaked
postictal
(storm weathered)
she sleeps a sleep
beneath her dreams
as he watches in the shadows.

He has seen her naked,
soul bared,
knows every contour
every crevice.
Intimate,
he has been inside her mind,
penetrated every nook and cranny.

Obsessed with her
he documents, details
ever word she utters
(deleting his that thrust
her deeper into madness).
As she sleeps,
shutter speed prioritised,
he clicks,
black-and-white to lust on.

Postictal
her vulnerability excites him.

Sometimes
(sitting in the shadows)
he thinks he needs to heal himself.

Anna :o]

With thanks to Tess at The Mag for the inspiration.

12 comments:

^.^ said...

Neat poem ... very deep and true and sad ... Love her .... wit all he faults ... you have faults too ... there will never be the perfect one ... Love, cat.

Brian Miller said...

wow, he's go it bad eh? smiles...knowing all he still wants her...and there is something to that you know...smiles.

Berowne said...

Remarkable little story you've created from the post. Very well done...

Daydreamertoo said...

Ah... he is smitten. Love it!
This is highly sensual, erotic, and yet, isn't.
Lovely poetry.
RYN: I think she was a beauty too. :) but then, I also tthere is beauty in everything, we just have to 'see' it.

Tess Kincaid said...

I really like "black and white to lust on"...nice...

Anonymous said...

(deleting his that thrust
her deeper into madness)

He is the reason for her madness then, poor woman

Anonyone said...

What is there to 'want' from a woman like that? It looks more like it may just be an act of kindness on his side given all her ailments and how destitute she must be. Of course, doing good reflects on the doer too and maybe why his attention and why it must then be the 'poet' who can't see this good side for some reason.

Poetry is a reflection of a poet's inner self and not that of their characters since those are a figment of a poet's imagination. By questioning that in a poet, one gains more insight into their resulting characters and how and why they are portrayed. With such clear distortion in both, and while I can't see logic for all the 'erotica' given all her madness, 'urine' and stuff, that distortion must then be in the poet's head and why it's the poet who needs to heal themselves before his/her characters can heal.

A first step is maybe to remove those green tinted glasses s/he seem to be wearing, and just let the sunshine in - I am sure that that will make the poet see a lot clearer. Will the poet do that? Will just have to wait for the next poem, then we can decide if it is a case of poor woman, poor man-or poor poet.

anthonynorth said...

Deep and powerful words. Excellent.

Other Mary said...

Intense, wow. Your word choice is so masterful...excellent write!

marcel said...

I love this Anna. It's very expressive. Short and audacious.

Helena said...

Wow. I enjoyed the bold intensity of this one!

hyperCRYPTICal said...

Thank you for your kind comments folks - big PC problems so apologies for this delay to add gratitude to your responses.

Anonyone ~ Erm, well, yes - it is possible that you are not a 'troll' and in view of this I am eternally grateful for your kind insight into my problems and would assure you that I am in the process of seeking help to heal myself. Thank-you.

Anna :o]