Fable It With Colour

[carm]

Housed in the library,
ensconced in an armchair,
I sat abandoned for a day
searching for the start
of a story, intensely eager
to fashion it with shape,
to fable it with colour.

Yet, quite reluctantly,
just beyond my reach,
the muse sat dormant,
run-down, inertly lurking,
round the corner,
passively smoldering,
while suspended
on the edge of feeling,
on the verge of touch.

Oh, what poverty
the nameless muse
brought forth, while
I was housed in the library,
ensconced in an armchair,
sitting abandoned for a day.

[Geoffrey]

carm wrote:
>Housed in the library . . .

This is good, or at least it gave me entertainment (I am no critic). The highest purpose of art is to inspire, a task I believe this poem will accomplish. Thank you.

[carm]

The highest purpose of art is to inspire…

In considering the state of my imagination lately, I find myself constantly searching for places, modes or various resources that might offer fresh perspectives or stimulants towards fuelling its use, for how delightful are the awakening pleasures of ones imagination?

In our blissful moments of repose, the world is ours and surely we can multiply each creative impulse a hundredfold if we allow ourselves to tap into the well of the imaginations prolific outpourings. We own the capability and the faculty of enabling our imagination to reap the rewards of its magnified poetic coloratura and in turn, the genius by which a poet, novelist, painter, musician or Forum member sets out to reveal.

[shaz]

In considering the state of my imagination lately, I find myself constantly searching for places, modes or various resources that might offer fresh perspectives or stimulants towards fuelling its use, for how delightful are the awakening pleasures of ones imagination?

In our blissful moments of repose, the world is ours and surely we can multiply each creative impulse a hundredfold if we allow ourselves to tap into the well of the imaginations prolific outpourings. We own the capability and the faculty of enabling our imagination to reap the rewards of its magnified poetic coloratura and in turn, the genius by which a poet, novelist, painter, musician or Forum member sets out to reveal.

I think in here you will find your writing genius.
To wait for a muse, is, basically giving away your own creative center to an invisible possibility.
Yet of course, the actual idea of such is fanciful and, in times, i have called myself this name.
But only as a way to truly give the gift of an idea, instead of claiming it.
For a muse merely draws on what you have, and reveals it to you, but is yours always.
Inspirational ideas are for the one who will take them and make more of it, is my thought.
I may have missed the point here, but, some of us have the experience without the talent to express,
and this is why, we are all part of this wonderful pallet of ideals and fruitfulness.

Shaz

[carm]

My muse accords
an articulate voice
that exists
at the core
of each and every
intimate experience.

It is beautifully variant
at every angle,
enigmatically imbued
with multivariate complexities
that encompass an eclectic range
of moods and colors.

And so, it is from this
conversant analysis
that I send my muse a plea,
an entreaty of the highest order;
"O! for a muse of fire,
that would ascend
the brightest heaven
of invention".

Inch by inch,
little by little,
piece by piece,
it will be summoned,
it will be bought, then sold
and caught again,
held in confinement,
on days when ebullient inspiration lays hid.

But, on days when I turn my inquisitive mind
suddenly and with force toward it,
it becomes unshackled, set free,
feverishly releasing its breathtaking vision.

The muse and I remain happy forever
as we spend time together
and something pseudonymous
is gained, that once seemed lost,
in my capacity to apprehend,
and then penetrate its fathomless,
paradoxical resources.