Gingerbread

A poem, searching for my muse

Resting softly on my side
on the side
of my non-bruised ribs
I ponder 
where is my muse?

the irony is not lost on me
searching the atmosphere 
at my fingertips 

the taste of the room
on my tongue

the smell of summer
from the garden

a forever garden
blossomed 
that circles the circumference of my imagination 
unending

the irony 
that there’s no obvious vessel
who carries the seed of creation

rather
airborne
as wildflower
birthed of a unfamiliar soil 
each cycle 

where is my muse?
deepening breaths inflate my lungs
mind
make me wince
remind
me of the body I abused
the ribs I cracked
the blood I spat
from the contusion
most recently
reminds me of my mortality
firms my feet to the ground
heightens my senses
awareness 
gratitude
to wake 
living
for life
giving 
 
my muse is my body at rest
recovering
with time to spare
I work out my mental muscles
with ink and paper
gratitude
for this yin

my muse is my body at play
unthinking
is my body in motion
following a sensory trail
of breadcrumbs
to my gingerbread house 
salivating
at simple joys
and grand experiences 
with vision and adventure
gratitude
for this yang

and every now and then
my body will hit a limit
tumbling
into the cage
laid out
by the witch within
who plans to feast upon my bones

till foiled 
by my Gretel
my creative falling petal
freeing a seed
a yin
which grows tall
blooms 
blissfully
in the forever garden

and kicks the witch into her oven
burns 
to ashes 
whilst I stuff my pockets full of jewels
to live happily ever after 

we grow up on fairytales 
- fantasy

grow old on reality 
- truth

actuality is;
theres still room for fairytales
beyond youth

youth
beyond age

age 
beyond now

now
beyond then

then, where is my muse? 

imagine…

and find within

there’s still room for fairytales 
beyond imagination 

imagination 
beyond dreaming 

dreaming
beyond sleep

to dream with eyes open

every week
every day
every moment

beyond an open mind
and open heart

to seek
a muse
which moves gracefully
amongst the atmosphere 
in the room

in and out of breath
being

existing

settling within

in everything
which every was
or, ever will be

happily ever after
the end. 

© Darius the Mate

Written for dVerse Poetics.

I would like to drop a notable mention to Rob Kistner, whose style, free of commas and capitalisation, I have recently fell very fond of, and employed today.

I adore the way this extension of poetic licence sits on the page, and flows.

They say, imitation is the highest form of flattery – well, I suppose it’s fitting to extend my appreciation for this poets work, and style, in a dVerse prompt, which asks of the writer to summon their muses.

A large part of my quest here at this blog, is to expand and develop the breadth of my knowledge, and ability, and sharing this platform with so many talented poets and writers, is a real privilege and gift.

Thank you for reading.

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