In that blurry kingdom of inspiration,
muses are trapped in coloured bottles
where grain alcohol transports them onto blank pages.
These muses dance on the slippery pages,
making efforts to stick, to be counted, and be read.
Sometimes, the birthed words fly into the eyes of the drinker
who then shakes off catapulted confusion by seeking the bottle once more.
Paper balls, cracked pen stems, and white spaces adorn.
In a sane minute or two, a sensible chord is struck
in that cloud of dust where clarity is ephemeral.
It might be great art to gamble with muses resident in a bottle;
perhaps not the thought that they live anywhere at all, muses!
Ofuma — incredible that you wrote this after 23 hours of marathoning — “in that cloud of dust where clarity is ephemeral” you certainly capture clarity, though, also, more than that — “slippery pages” and “confusion” opening the possibility — and danger — of something more.
Many thanks, Jacob. Your comments also flow with much insights. I have a feeling this poem will grow beyond this. I have a developing collection predominantly themed around the muse. I started it after the 2020 Poetry Marathon and only seem to advance its course after each subsequent marathon. I am also curious to see what it would end up as.
Omg, the images of words dancing on slippery pages… bravo!
Thanks.
My dear friend, Ofuma Agali, this poem is well crafted. The imagery of those words flying into the eyes of the drinker…. And seeking to taste it once more…
These are haunting imageries
He he he he… Thanks.
This poem is so terrific and lingering. Thank you for it.
You are welcome.
This piece is from the ready hand of a writer. Well done, Ofuma.
Thanks.
You came up with this masterpiece of imageries in hour 24 ?
Wow, great writing sir.
Thank you.