Ultimatum
Above, below to left or right.
There is no where that I can hide,
my muse finds me and makes me write.
My wants must go unsatisfied
She interrupts my sleep and meals
insists that I take up my pen.
She has no idea how it feels
to be forced to write again.
She wakes from my peaceful dreams
and asks me why I’m wasting time.
She has a whole new list of themes
for me to translate into rhyme.
I think she has insomnia
Or else prefers to work at night.
She’ll really have to learn I fear
I am entitled not to write.
I need to sleep, I need to eat
I need some time to call my own.
But she refuses to retreat
She thinks she occupies a throne.
And her commands I must obey
immediately without protest.
Ignoring every word I say
convinced that only she knows best.
I dig my toes in and refuse
sometimes a man must make a stand.
I only have a muse to lose
At last she seems to understand.
That I’m not at her beck and call
I have other things I must do.
Her attitude won’t do at all’
It’s something that she must review.
I only write when I want to,
not when muse decides I should.
Renewal of her contracts due
That fact alone should give her food
for thought. I may decide not to renew.
If she wants to retain her place
She will do as I tell her to
accept my bidding with good grace.
There are some muses unemployed
Seeking for opportunities
who would be simply overjoyed
to get the chance to work with me.
She really has to realise
There’s limits to my patience
which she far too often tries.
The time has come to show some sense.
I am in charge and not my muse.
Although she thinks that she should be
I’ve had enough of her abuse
She either leaves or obeys me.
2-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Related quotes
We are not amused for M lady Mary Gordley
I cannot sleep the whole night through.
My muse will not allow me to
when she commands I must obey.
I wish she’d take a holiday.
She thinks that sleeping is a crime
she does not sleep so why should I.
A complete and utter waste of time.
Which I could better occupy
by sitting at my desk to write
instead of lazing in my bed.
I think she thinks she has the right.
She just ignores all I have said.
Some folks complain of writers block
whilst I have writers Diarrhoea
My muse would hide beneath a rock
if she could not supply ideas.
Which I must translate into verse
to demonstrate her eloquence
She views my fatigue as perverse;
of very little consequence.
An active muse can be a curse
I sometimes wish she’d stay away
To have no muse would be much worse
I just give in do it her way.
5-Jun-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Help Wanted
I am compelled, perhaps obsessed.
Would be a better choice of word.
My muse allows me little rest.
She is convinced that she know best
No matter how much I protest
She insists she has the right
To make me write by day and night.
I sometimes feel I am possessed
Although the idea seems absurd.
My judgement marred by lack of rest
I find reality is blurred.
I’m sure my muse abuses me
I’m tired of her tyranny.
I really think that it would be
Better if she left. Undeterred
She still insists that she knows best.
And acts as if she hasn’t heard.
That poets can dismiss their muse
When they are guilty of abuse.
I’m sick of being under stress
Although I would have much
preferred not to cause my muse distress
She pretended she misheard.
When I told her we were through
It was the only thing to do.
I did not like her attitude.
But now I am without a muse.
Although I have some aptitude
I must arrange some interviews
I will be careful when I choose
Some muse to fill the vacancy.
A muse that will not bully me.
Monday,17 October 2011
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Who is in charge?
My muse continues to abuse
her position. She will refuse
to use her skills to help me out
That she’s in charge she has no doubt.
But I have bad news for my muse.
I have arranged some interviews
with other muses unemployed
Who say they would be overjoyed
to find themselves in with a chance
Which would improve their circumstance.
My muse is old and crotchety
she really thinks, she employs me.
I think it’s time that she retired
a thought which she herself inspired.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Emell
This muse of love is like how to write a song,
This muse of care is like how to write a poem,
This muse of peace is like how to write a stroy,
This muse of joy is like how to write a book,
But, i am now delivered with the muse of your love!
Because, i now live in the land of your muse and,
You are called Emell.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Foregone Conclusion. For M'selle Perrault
My muse like any woman will
use her feminine wiles and skill
To persuade me to her view
and will persist until I do
Exactly as she wants me to.
I’m well aware that she will win.
Should I surrender just give in?
I must defend my self respect
it is the least she will expect
So I protest to no effect.
When my muse makes up her mind.
Like any poet I will find.
I have no choice but to obey
and there is nothing I can say.
She will reject each argument.
That I can muster and present
Although it’s futile to resist.
My fragile ego will insist
I have no option but persist
to register my discontent.
Though this does not deter my muse.
She knows full well I can’t refuse.
She knows from my past history.
I will submit reluctantly
She always wins eventually
She knows I must put on a show
to satisfy my male ego.
She is prepared to wait until
I do obey her sovereign will.
She makes that clearly evident.
I cannot win I’m bound to lose
When I argue with my muse.
She’s confident she will prevail.
After all I’m only a male
Somewhat naïve and innocent.
She knows I am a gentleman
that’s why she’s certain that she can.
Persuade coerce or bully me
Until give in and agree.
My muse will brook no argument.
Sunday,24 October 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Highly Sought Out
Thanks for taking time to write to me,
Thanks for taking time to receive me,
Thanks for taking time to understand my muse;
Going through it!
personally,
Highly sought out;
And like your poetic accomplishments in life.
Archives, hives, knives, wives, lives, rives, fives, gives, jives, strives! !
In and around the world;
And like a new look,
But, with unique acts in the land of your muse.
Of the interest,
Of your interest,
Of my interest,
Like the appeal of your love;
Artistic!
Artistry,
Poetic artistry,
With your muse,
With my muse,
Ever prepared,
Ever produced,
Ever accepted;
With the aspects of your sweet love.
This muse,
This love,
This mind,
This wind! !
And like a highly valued personal gift from me to you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Addiction for M lady Kim
Addiction
I’ll exercise self discipline.
Today I will not write a word.
I have decided it’s no sin.
This constant scribbling’s absurd.
I choose a book and start to read
but then some phrase enraptures me.
Quite suddenly I feel the need
I have to write and urgently,
Before my train of thought is lost
I find my pad take up my pen
and writing in the style of Frost.
I find I’m scribbling again.
My muse cannot contain her glee.
She knows that she’s in charge not me.
20-Aug-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A matter of choice for M'Lady Indira
Some take their writing seriously
Whilst others are just dilettantes
Though my muse states imperiously,
that I must write the way she wants
The duties writers undertake
are manifold and various.
They have to write make no mistake
on subjects light or serious.
They know it is their duty to
deflate the self important fools.
Who in their ignorance pursue
a vain attempt to scrap all rules.
Discard the lessons of the past.
Insisting anything will do.
A fashion I am sure wont last
when readers can compare it to.
Fine verse that stood the test of time.
The glories of formality
by masters of meter and rhyme.
Which they left for posterity.
Though I concede all have the right,
to write in any way they choose.
To some free form is sheer delight.
All down to taste I must suppose.
26-Jul-08
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Enough already.
I sometimes wish my muse would take
a holiday, A longish break.
She is convinced she has the right
to badger me by day and night.
There’s other things I want to do.
I love to write that is quite true
But household chores must still be done.
I’d like a little time for fun
A bit of time to paint and draw
I don’t have time to anymore’
I have some books I want to read
but constantly she fills my head
with poetry, she cannot see
Sometimes I need some time for me.
27/10/2009Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Enough Already
I sometimes wish my muse would take
a holiday, A longish break.
She is convinced she has the right
to badger me by day and night.
There’s other things I want to do.
I love to write that is quite true
But household chores must still be done.
I’d like a little time for fun
A bit of time to paint and draw
I don’t have time to anymore’
I have some books I want to read
but constantly she fills my head
with poetry, she cannot see
Sometimes I need some time for me.
27/10/2009Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A Petition
To spring belongs the violet, and the blown
Spice of the roses let the summer own.
Grant me this favor, Muse--all else withhold--
That I may not write verse when I am old.
And yet I pray you, Muse, delay the time!
Be not too ready to deny me rhyme;
And when the hour strikes, as it must, dear Muse,
I beg you very gently break the news.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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The Poet And The Baby
How's a man to write a sonnet, can you tell,--
How's he going to weave the dim, poetic spell,--
When a-toddling on the floor
Is the muse he must adore,
And this muse he loves, not wisely, but too well?
Now, to write a sonnet, every one allows,
One must always be as quiet as a mouse;
But to write one seems to me
Quite superfluous to be,
When you 've got a little sonnet in the house.
Just a dainty little poem, true and fine,
That is full of love and life in every line,
Earnest, delicate, and sweet,
Altogether so complete
That I wonder what's the use of writing mine.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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A Fear Through Words
It is through fear I write this
Through fear I dare not speak these words
Or name the muse of who I pen them to
I hold a gentle and honest love to my heart
Such a love as yet untried and unknown
What good are my words when I cannot speak them
To my muse so beautiful so sweet, so divine
I fear I may lose them so completely
That I stay silent, bide my words so well
And watch with abject despair
My muse, object of my whole desire
Grow more distant with each passing day
And I fear I may lose all together
By speaking these words, these cursed words
I asked myself once, what I search for
Is it what I want or what I need in life
And there I saw my muse, a world of beauty
More than I could imagine or ask for
A gentle heart and loving nature
Those warm soothing eyes I look to
Do not see me as I would wish
I fear if they were to, see my innermost soul
My passion and my love for them
They would turn away and be lost completely
Which is why I write with fear
These words I dare not speak
poem by Matthew Holloway
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A matter of form for friend leslie
Consistency and symmetry
combined with meter seem to be
Ingredients of good poetry.
Though modernists will disagree.
They take a different point of view.
Convinced that anything will do
That writers need not follow rules
and those who do they see as fools
Consider rhyming is a crime
and meter just a waste of time.
But can this kind of writing last?
like that of poets from the past.
I don’t dispute they have the right
to choose the way in which they write.
Poetic prose can be divine
but not if it lacks discipline.
Your writing must be coherent.
A well established precedent
If what you write does not make sense.
What can be said in its defence?
If readers cannot comprehend
the message which you try to send
Because your meaning is not plain.
Perhaps its time to think again.
And realise there must be rules.
A craftsman has to know his tools.
If he does not then he will fail
his efforts all to no avail.
Some readers will choose poetry
and others prose preferably
It is your reader’s right to choose
to read your writings or refuse.
If you don’t cater to their needs
don’t be surprised if no one reads.
If how you write is too obscure.
Then change your style. The only cure.
30/06/2009
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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On Being Told That There Is No Rhyme For The Word “Limerick”
After I heard Harry’s limerick,
I found that my mind set to simmer. “Rick, ”
I said to myself,
“One might write it itself, ”
But I answered, “You’re chances are slimmer, Rick! ”
So I can’t find a good rhyme for Limerick.
Told myself, “ You are just a beginner, Rick
And though there’s no reason
You can’t write something decent,
I fancy your chances get grimmer, Rick! ”
He said that it might rhyme with turmeric
But I thought, “You’re not that fast a learner, Rick:
Ditch your thoughts wasting time
Finding suitable rhyme;
Let your plans, man, stand on the back burner, Rick.”
But the cogwheels had started to turn a bit
As I guessed I had started to learn a bit
And I might find a line
That rhymes Limerick fine
And might win me a prize, so I earn a bit.
But I thought, “Though there was just a glimmer, Rick.
You will think till you’re needing a zimmer, Rick,
Since the muse isn’t kind,
I am sure you’ll will find
Not a word that will rhyme fine with Limerick.”
poem by C. Richard Miles
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Write Me
Aerosmith
Write Me
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
I said, the ways of the night are evil with eyes that love the day,
but I'll never never never never never get so far away.
I said write me, write me, write me.
I said write me, write me, write me.
Well there's nothin' I can see that'd ever make
me want to be without her she's good, she's good to me.
Said there's no way to explain the kind of feeling
that you get out in the rain she's good, she's good to me.
See this emptiness inside it makes me scream
it make me crawl out of my high, she's good, she's good to me.
I love her.
Write me a letter, write me a letter, write it today, I'm goin' away.
Well I've been away forever, suicide's crossin' my mind,
But I'll never never never never never get so far behind.
Well I've been so many places hidin' from the wind and the rain,
But you could write me a letter for to save me from a goin' insane.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write.
I said write me, write, write, write me.
Write me, write, write, write me.
Don't write me baby.
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why Do I Write
I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go
I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain
At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down
I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it
I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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Bayla
The events have not well settled down,
But i have seen the nakedness of your muse;
And be very wise to criticize me on this muse,
Because it is all about your love.
You may understand my muse or not,
But poetry is all about you and i! !
And what you write down in the name of your country will not satisfy me;
But i have to accept your lines in the name of poetry.
I am not the one that you are looking for,
So do not be very angry with my poems;
For they are all there to teach others than you! !
Bayla my lover is still at home,
And like a star in the land of lovers;
But this poem was not writtien for you.
I am very glad to understand your status,
But why are not ready for criticism? !
Because we are all learning on this earth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
Many Teachers All Over The World
I write to teach you,
I write to lead you,
I write to guide you,
I write to tell you what i have for you;
But, there are many teachers all over the world!
However, my sweet muse of different from all of them.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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