Wonderful whimsical wishes
Am often drunk on hypnotic wisdom
And fucked by words
I let them have me
Delve deep inside
And fill me up
Til I cream
Spilling forth from spastic seams
......Dayum Hendricks is rocking my speakers
Guitar strings producing magical melodies
Of insane rhythms that have no beginning or end
~I admire his freedom
To take music and make it an extension of himself
Sharing his soul with each chord
Plucking out his pain
And pouring it into the air through sound
~Sound that surrounds me
As it seeps into my ears
And finds its way to my spine
~I wonder did he see God
I mean all engrossed in his music
Fingers gripping/ripping the instrument
~Was God his muse?
.......For God has been mine
Certainly in my writing I mean
But so has music & the musicians that garner it.
I borrow their talent
They are my muse
As is life
Tap on my heart
Reminding me that pain is universal
And no one escapes
Singing its song
For its rhythm is a chord we all know
Strumming along its wire
Reverberating in acoustic sound
Chord change vibe
Deep blue pain
I took words and meant what they say?
Instead of hiding them under the guise of verse
Composed of simile
And infused with metaphor
~If I actually didn't allow words to betray me
would I still be considered a poet?
Maybe I'm no poet at all
Just a word wrangler
Or a thought tangler
.....Do I have the poet's esthetic?
Or am I just emptying lies?
Does having a way with words
Give me license to subscribe,
(Or scribe if you will)
Metaphoric proverbs to pander so solicitously?