I Hear My Name

This poetry, this poem
drives me hard. Quite
disinterested in a cherubic muse
it lurks near by my vulnerability.
At night’s fall
it ditches reason
and shadows the tongue: rolling
red wine in cheek while
setting the table for a tale.

This poetry, this poem
is no laureate; no, more a pirate.
It sets sail surreptitiously.
It holds no truck with waiting on luck,
but tacks into the word;
hope heeling hard.

I hear my name.
I cannot but write.

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10 thoughts on “I Hear My Name

  1. shoreacres says:

    One of the things I like about your approach to poetry is your lack of sentimentality: e.g., no cherubic muse. Personally, I don’t hold much truck with muses (where in the world did you pick up that wonderful, country expression?) But I have occasionally joked about my just-slightly-down-at-the-heels muse, who will head off to Poughkeepsie rather than Paris. Maybe I should write about her, especially since I’ve grown rather fond of her over the years.

    I love “hope heeling hard.” I especially like the double meaning, but the image as is, is perfect.

    • agjorgenson says:

      “Hold truck?” I’m not sure where I first encountered it, and while not common, I do bump into it from time to time. And frankly, I’d pick a Poughkeepsie (great name, that) muse over a Parisian one any day. I thought you might take a shine to “hope heeling hard.” I had my first sail on Saturday and my Saturday night edits reflect that!

  2. dianerivers says:

    Your poetry is so engaging and colorful. I enjoy reading each post over and over, both silently and aloud. The sounds roll off my tongue and roil my brain. Masterfully done!

  3. kidnapped by the muse….

  4. Some great images, Allen.

    Love:

    and shadows the tongue: rolling
    red wine in cheek while
    setting the table for a tale.

    We can all relate.

  5. jannatwrites says:

    I found parts of this poem amusing, almost humorous, especially the part about the poem being more of a pirate than a laureate.

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