From a touch of the heart to the touch of the paperA week ago I asked of you,
What inspires you?,
What drives you to give?,
Unconditionally, your heart and soul,
To your papers,
And the responses have brought truth and beauty,
To all of our souls,
That is why I will begin with this one,
What is my Inspiration?
What is my drive, what are my grass roots?
Maybe it is you; maybe it is a heartbeat?
What is my inspiration?
Is it Art?
Is it imagination?
Is it fantasy?
Is it deliberation?
Is it humour of life?
Or is it my faith?
What is the music of my soul?
What are the beats in my feet?
Soul and Spirit sings lifes song
This is my heaven's journey
This is where I belong!
Some are inspired by desire and humor,
Even in the worst of situations,
And there is strength within the pain,
And that is called endurance,
Which sends forth knowledge,
And in this case, with a smile,
I'm inspired by desire
A desperate and sometimes
To find and keep that
Which moves me
The desire to feel
To taste and savour
The world around me
A longing to be in it
And watch it
And relish it
I'm inspired by fear
I move in directions
Into spaces that
Put me at risk
And the fear grows
Will it hurt me?
Will it kill me?
Will it abandon me?
Above all, though,
I'm inspired by
Funny jokes and
Shaving cream! LOL
Faith, the original inspiration,
Because it is from the soul,
And that can be never taken away,
No matter what kind of frustration,
May come our way,
And in this, her true strength shines,
Yes darling, it shines,
I observe nature and its offerings
N oticing both the beauty and the beast
S eeing the world around me moving,
P eering into the life as it speaks
I nvestigating the intricacies of cicada wings
R eaping the benefits that grandchildren bring
A dmiring the light of day and dark of night
T esting the limits of making wrongs right
I nvolving myself with people and places
O pening up to God and His loving embraces
N ew babies and children of all creed and races
Inspiration is in each moment of each breath I take.
Romance brings its own technicolor rainbow upon us,
The most common inspiration for what all we do,
but this one is different, yes,
It's sensual, yet uplifting to all souls,
Who love to be moved,
Who love to be touched,
And loves to love back,
With this, I'm proud to introduce,
Love inspires me, romance adds the color
Moves me inside out, playfully
I love a soft word, a gentle smile
That touch of magic on my skin
Passion and electric blue heat
A love language that fills my senses
Now that inspires me!
But add to this
And Life becomes
that creative energy
that flows within
and touches the very part
of my heart
that makes me sing with Joy
and feel more alive.
A muse, one of my famous inspirations,
Is more than just inspiring,
It's a movement of love, not desire,
It makes it pure elementary,
And that is explained through the words of Thomas Perdue,
I read your recently, but this piece, truly,
Is the one that made me really think of my past,
You are my inspiration!
Every memory I have of you.
My love for you
Which is contained within
Every particle of my being
And the hope of recieving
That love in return oneday.
These things do inspire me!
The memory of your smile!
Of your beautiful face!
Oh! Such beauty cannot
Be put to words!
Those teeth, so white...
These things do inspire me!
Having your words to carry in my heart,
Anything you have said I hold most dear!
To have known you
And to have hope of seeing you again!
These things do inspire me!
You are my inspiration!
You are my muse!
You are my love!
Nature's beauty, the air we breathe,
Things taken for granted until it's gone,
Thank you for reminding me of this inspiration, Zoya,
Thousand are my desires and each
Is good enough to die for,
The more my desires are fulfilled
The more I long and vie for...'
Quiet morn with the glorious Sun
Rising in the East
Slowly dispelling the Night's darkness
With beauty grace and ease.
Snow-topped lofty mountain peaks
Kissing the aquamarine sky
Golden hue of heaven's eye
Spreading its smile- shy.
Mountain springs gurgling pass
Frolicking with the rocks,
Sending sprays of pleasant froth
on my face, when early crows the cock.
Your eyes shining crystal clear
with that inner glow
of soul so pure and full of love
caressing my face- warm my blood flows.
Tenderness of love and heat
of passionate, tumultuous nights
In slow lovemaking, when gradually
mysteries of self unfold...
The vast blue Ocean stretching far,
As far as the eye can see
Merging into the beloved horizon,
Inviting to voyage the Sea...
Grasslands green and paddy fields,
Tea plantations, sheaves of wheat
neatly stacked up in harvested fields,
Wild flowers in abundance on the curvy slopes.
Starry nights, moon shinning bright-
World bathed in silver light,
Casting a spell to mesmerize
Each creature of the night...
Smile innocent on a child's face,
Dried up tears in widows' eyes,
Silent sobs of suffering women
In nooks and corners, on dark nights...
Hunger of helpless children,
Famine, disease, unjust wars,
Exploitation, degradation, humiliation,
Violation of human dignity, in peace and war.
Nights of longing full of desire
Dreams of being one with you,
Look deep into your ocean eyes
and drown myself in you...
These things and many more
Stir me deep to the core.
And in the wee hours of the morn,
When Time stands still-
My soul begins to sing
dipped in my heart's blood,
My pen begins to dance
The paper comes aflame with passion,
My anguish knows no bounds...
My ecstasy's unbound...
Author: Zoya Zaidi
Aligarh (UP), India
Copyright ©: Zoya Zaidi
Even when you lose your muse,
It is our wit and memories that lingers on,
And it is our heart that still writes,
And never stops even after it heals,
That's what makes us human,
That is what makes us inspirational,
With that I give you,
Desist your games, you dratted tricky sprite;
Who over my poetic corpse would dance!
This blinking presence reeks of wicked spite;
Surcease your prance while you still have the chance
I see your eyes are fraught with great surprise
In truth, I hate the wicked words to come;
For they are instruments of your demise
The time is now, I feel my tongue grow numb;
Attend these words, my fay of endless hues;
The day has come for me to say adieu
For you, my dear; whom I do call "my muse";
Rely on me, like I depend on you!
And as this quarrel ends, my tears do run;
My muse is gone; a quest for words begun
My dear friend, Nepenthes,
Told me about this,
Just in time,
The inspiration of the dream,
The heart beats and gives us vision,
Of who we are, what we want,
And how it will be in the eyes of our imagination,
Just in time, thank you Dreamer 4655,
Dreamers are believers, harbingers of spring.
Larkspur and lilies adorning moonbeams.
Bedtime roses, mornings with flowers.
Birds of paradise caressing our dreams.
They sing under the moon, catching falling stars
Dancing to love's tune, breathing life's perfume
Hope is their key, flying to the sun
Drifting in the air with fancy and flair.
Romantics worship the passions of their souls.
Gallant dragon-slayers, heroes and schemers.
Devoted rebellion, a precious mantra,
Making melancholy dreamers believers.
A toast to the stars! Lift up thy spirits!
Sing of figures, love, and lethargy.
Play the heart strings of your infatuation.
Dance the ballets of mystery.
Sprinkling fairy dust wherever they roam,
These elegant creatures have no home.
Their dreamy eyes give a taste of heaven,
Drowning in their depths, back to Eden.
Wistful beliefs, they celebrate,
Infusing all who wish to partake.
A continuous dance under the crescent moon,
Bewitched and bedazzled on the sands of Dune!
Rob, you're and inspiration and a challenge to me,
On intelligence and a love for words,
With truth and honesty,
Never be afraid and say what you mean,
The true essence and result of the inspiration,
The muses can be constant. They can caress, and praise.
They sing. They laugh. They dance, and love, and pray.
Not a tick goes by they don't play host to me,
Unworthy as I am. It matters not a tiny bit to me.
I just let them take me anywhere they please.
The muses may be fickle. They may tickle, and may prick.
They growl. They howl. They sigh, and weep, and prey.
Not a day goes by they don't invade my soul.
Music, nature, art, the love of death and life.
Cry terrorism, mysticism, hate and strife.
I say we "Damn torpedoes. Full steam straight ahead!"
The muses are upon their steeds, parading off.
But, soft! The imps and faeries dart among those trees.
There are dragon-lords and pretty maidens fair.
Be gentle with them; let them take their dare.
They'll please your heart, your mind, your passion's eye.
They'll soothe your aching spirits for a day,
A week, a month, a decade, or a year.
Blessed creatures, cursed at times, no doubt.
But, they inhabit all my pleasure haunts.
Choosing one above the others is unwise.
I'd risk my crazy seers. I'd miss them dearly.
Fantasia casts her spells where she desires.
'Tis not for me to question motifs, nor for I.
I simply let fandangos mystify.
Inspiration is a feelings being free,
To roam, fly, and especially,
In this case through words,
With this tribute,
This is Aaron,
The world around me
Is a wonderful tool
When used correctly
Sets feelings free
The wind and the rain
And the sun are a few
Of the the things that cause
My senses to look through
A different scope
A way of reason
A ray of hope
Writing isn't easy
It takes time and effort
Sometimes it leaves you confused
Or rather queasy
Friends are a good source
Of devine inspiration
They feed my desire
And my life force
Aside from this need
To quench my thirst for words
I gain my inspirtaion
From my will to succeed
I thank the world
For blessing me
With a passion for poems
As for my future
That's a guarantee
From nothing, inspiration will come as well,
In this case some will seek,
But some will find strength within theirself,
In their weaken state, faith is the strongest,
And with this,
Dino shows us,
Nothing as sophisticated as a copper clip,
nothing that could be reversed, poor bird:
it was plucked at birth.
Wee bald hatchling, what chance?
What chance did it ever have?
Even the fattest, most languid cat
could've trapped it under cruel claw.
What chance? Its caged-bird song
plaintive as foghorns
strained from the Clyde's forgotten dawn,
melancholy with dull dreams
of washing days and tenement greens.
Oh dearie me. Oh me, oh my!
Puir wee chookie bird couldnae fly.
I always love these texts from Aliena,
The power of simple, few words,
Speaks volumes of the drive that motivates us,
It is my honor to present you in this piece,
As we were wide-eyed young
I jumped over the ditch
into the promised land
and learned to speak
and midday thaw
like bird songs
and a thousand dragonflies
over a water-lily mere
This language landscape
makes me still dizzy with love
and in its resounding expanse
I live - I move - I am
singing on bare feet
constantly in stumbling nearness
to the hidden pits of estrangement
in which I, the Alien, am forced to admit
the inescapability of my not-belonging.
Inspiration is honesty in movement,
We strive for it with every creation we make,
From the person who shines the corner,
To the musician who tries to save the world,
I guess it's my turn now,
It was George Carlin that said it best,
"I do this stupid thing called, thinking",
If you don't search you mind,
You can't find anything,
When you start, you find all kinds of things,
But in the end, you find not only the truth,
But yourself, and that's what builds the ties we make,
Nuture and watch grow to whatever we see fit,
In that inspiration becomes more than a word,
More than a feeling,
But a moving and honest perspective upon everything around us,
From every corner of the world,
You wrote about your drive,
Your inspirations and I have enjoyed every one of them,
When you brew all of this together,
It all ends with passion and love for the language,
Put in essay, put in song, and finally,
Put in poetic honesty,
The dancer moves without a trace,
Poetry by Saga
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Written on 2006-09-19 at 06:45
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