A Poet’s Inspiring Moments

Emerald eyes

Emerald Eyes

A Poet’s Inspiring Moments

 
What are you doing, she asked?
I’m writing poetry, I answered.
But your eyes were closed
And your chin was resting
Against your chest, she proclaimed.
I was meditating… to receive insight
Into my next work of art, I professed.
You were snoring
Like a pig with asthma, she said sarcastically.
That wasn’t snoring,
That was meditative verbalizations,
Calling forth poets
From other worlds, I deluded.
If you were calling forth
Poets who have passed,
They might have mistakenly
Believed that you were one of them, she alleged.
Observing that my fingers
Were resting awkwardly
On the keys of the laptop,
She asked, were you typing
Messages from the dream world?
No, I indignantly stated.
I was ready to type
Poetry from the other side.
The other side of what?
The other side of your recliner?
She acrimoniously declared.
My spirit guides help me
With my writing,
I proudly disclosed.
The cat is asleep behind your chair,
Is he one of your spirit guides?
Are you going to write
Some deep dark kitty poetry?
She sardonically inquired.
Yes, I averred with pleasure.
I’m writing a poem
About a cat, lost in the darkness
Whose emerald green eyes
Reflecting the most obscure of light
Perforating the darkness
Prowled through the night,
Lighting a spark that
Illuminated the path
Where reason lies.
Hmm, that’s not too bad
For quick thinking,
She stated adorningly.
Thank you guides, I whispered.
Exiting the room
She turned… with grace…
With a ‘you’re so full of shit’
Smile on her face.
I smiled in return…..
With conceding confirmation.

Don’t sleep with your chin on your chest….
It might make you snore like a pig with asthma…

Michael

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