Zea-ching
Stanzas | 4 |
Lines | 7/stanza = 28 lines |
Syllable/Words | Alternate 6 words then 13 words |
Rhymes | |
Repeat | Line 7 |
My Glorious Torturer
My poems are stuck in ether.
There is a fog in my brain that will not let them gel.
I catch a hazy glimpse
Then away it swirls into nothingness behind the thick, gray, vaporous cloud cover.
Again and again this always happens.
A gauzy fabric enshrouds my mind keeping my poem just out of reach.
Oh my Muse, my glorious torturer.
I wait for her to come,
To change this opaque landscape to a translucent, light filled meadow of wildflowers.
Her crystal bell laugh I hear
Muffled through the shifting haze of the perpetually seeking I must go through.
She is a cruelly loving mistress.
When finally I gain on her voice she darts away in the demesne.
Oh my Muse, my glorious torturer.
You wander away and I long
To feel your gentle guiding hand upon my shoulder just one more time.
You share your touch with many
And when you visit all the others I must patiently wait my turn
For you to come around again.
When you are gone I struggle to find the correct words and images.
Oh my Muse, my glorious torturer.
You flow past on gossamer wings
Leaving a contrail-like mist to swirl softly around and through my body.
Pores soak in the pearlescent droplets
That hold the next installment of lines and images to be poetically dispersed.
My bloodstream carries each drop around
Until it surges through my brain to my fingers as I quickly write.
Oh my Muse, my glorious torturer.
Beth Ellen Cook
9-16-2011
