Posts Tagged Poetry

Puppet – Music Monday

I used to write poetry, back in the days when I didn’t know about fanfic and I didn’t think I could write short stories. I thought I would share one I wrote about music. It doesn’t rhyme, and it’s a train-of-thought, stream-of-consciousness sort of deal about what music does to me. Enjoy.

Puppet

Pounding through me like an insistent lover, the music takes me over.

Like a puppet with invisible strings, I begin to move to the sounds engulfing me as the band plays on, the world shrinking until there is nothing but the music and me.

And then it devours me, becomes me.

I am the music, it is me – the blood in my veins, the air in my lungs, the soul within, and the visage without.

 

 

 

What does music do to you? For you? With you?

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Wordsmith Wednesday – The Muse

A representation from the 1500s of the Muses d...

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Writing, sharing words with others, is incredibly personal. It involves pouring out bits of your soul for others to look at and *gasp* judge. Some of the most volatile feelings we have center around what we write.

Hi, my name is Gigi, and I am a writer. My deepest relationships are with my muses.

What is a muse? It’s that voice (or voices) inside a writer’s head who holds the keys to our closet of inspiration. They are more than friend, more than family, they are the gatekeepers of our imagination, our soul. And yes, I did say muses plural earlier. I have several.

Each has a distinctive voice, or personality. Only one talks to me at a time, and they’re all male. I don’t know why.

One is a broody, emo brat whom I have locked in a dungeon. All my teenage angst poetry that will never see the light of day are his fault.

Another is full of hope and sunlight and joy. He lives in the garden, wanting me to join him, get our hands dirty together as we plant seeds for the future. He also likes lots and lots of sex. I tried denying him once and looked down to find I’d written the torrid scene he demanded anyway.

Our muses know what we need to say. They are there to help us get it done, and we ignore them at our own risk. We have to trust ourselves when we write, and that means trusting our muse.

Admittedly, sometimes they want us to write something uncomfortable for others to read or even hear about. That’s perfectly fine. Not everyone has to like what we write.

Unfortunately, most don’t stop at not reading, especially if they care about us. They try to tell us not to write whatever it is they find offensive. While well-meaning, thinking to help us rise above our “filthy” impulses, they cut into our hearts. Instead of building us up because we’re “better than that,” they are, in fact, tearing us down.

What then, do we do?

We listen to our muse. We are writers. We tell the story our soul needs to share, and trust in ourself.

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