My muse arrived
completely drunk
while I was trying
to find some inspiration.

She brought me
a gift: a sheep in wolf's clothing.
I didn't complain.
A lot of lies in this stupid package,
she did enclose.
What a pain!

She said she was fed up
with my love poems and silly flowers.
She said my rhymes were
broken or poor.
She told me to read The Hours.
(Oh!Poor rhyme again! - she rebuked)

He was the kind of man
you find in every corner.
No adjective I can find
to qualify his heart.
Maybe it was just rusty,
stained or whatever.
Maybe he was an unobservalbe
(He thought he was so clever!)

My muse is so obtuse.
How could she bring me
such a blind snake over
a game of pools when
I was half awake
and I didn't know where
I had put away my poetic tools?
(Poor rhyme once more! I know)

No need to tell you
the end of this intense drama.
I still don't know who is more pathetic:
he with his spiritual bla-bla-bla
or me.
(Oh!It's so tragic!)

My muse is a complete idiot
and she must be drinking somewhere
as she always does.
I told her to be far away
from me but she never respects
what I feel or say.
She held my hand and tenderly said:
'-Be strong!Tomorrow is another day!"
(Poor rhyme again?!)
...I guess my muse is dead

Karla Bardanza

Copyright©Karla Bardanza 2011

1 comment:

  1. A muse here is a friend, or one who comes to us in the visions. Either way, this muse obviously failed you as a friend, for she was blind to your beauty and value.
    This is tragic how someone could stain our hearts and make us weep pain from our souls unnecessarily.
    In my world the brothers would take care of her. Just mention the word sister... Later.