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The Doldrum Blues

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Repeatedly beating myself at solitaire
as though silent standstill were my natural state,
tapping gray ash from an imaginary cigar
while memorizing excuses later to recite,
boulevard traffic smearing off into a blur,
with a fatal flaw I’m not wanting to admit –
Before I’ve opened my mouth, it’s time to quit!
The moment’s moved away: I can’t say where
or how it went. Must one always incur
his god’s own demolition to create
a lump of coal black enough to ignite
one spark that might be mistaken for a star?
Perhaps I’ve gone too fast, too deep, too far.
Rewind the tape to my own origin with it,
back to when its plain ideal felt bright,
just maybe I might feel its breath back there,
some inner voice, that proverbial innate
muse or any spook remotely resembling her.
The damn thing’s sitting there, it doesn’t stir,
as if waiting on me to move first. Bizarre!
I ought to make up something else as bait,
some artifact devoid of charm or wit,
a drain to drain my head, a mental snare,
a hawk to catch this little bird mid-flight.
Its whisper’s mute, too subtle for me to write!
To poets and artists more gifted I defer,
or even to those less gifted, I don’t care.
My score on it’s more nonplussed than subpar –
a drag of foreign smoke by English lit,
amused reflections hardly second-rate.
I’ve tried too hard too late to set it straight
or acted too polite to give it fight.
I bit, I hit, I spit – it still won’t fit.
No thank you, sir, this ain’t what I prefer.
     (Insert a bar for bass guitar
     plus any flair your hand can spare.)
So I head back to wait where my thoughts were
there in plain sight where other people are,
nowhere to sit, nothing at which to stare.

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Written by macheide

3 February 2009 at 11:14 pm

Posted in last but not least

One Response

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  1. […] And instead I spend the entire next hour finally breaking through on the poem that had dodged me several weeks ago, the elusive one that had inspired The Doldrum Blues. […]

    Poetic Injustice « Porrima

    13 February 2009 at 4:09 am


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