The Meisterstück
The canvas lies in virgin stateAlthough the muse is active still
For thought-free words in formless shapes
Float far beyond the captured will.
Far beyond imagination
And far beyond the poet's dart
Words drift far and ever further
From the artist's muzzled art.
Like teasing spirits ever loosed
They fool the ancient poet's muse
Defying every baited rhyme
They pass unconquered out of use.
But then unconscious and enchanted
Mind and hand are forced apart
With one lost in grave abandon
The other steels against its heart.
With a strangled, selfless effort
It tumbles through its standard ken
And with a desperate aching lunge
It reaches for the master pen.
Which unleashed its presence weaving
Captures the corners of the mind
Far beyond the muse's ramblings
Beyond the hope of poet-kind.
This golden, gleaming, inky wand
With diamond nib casts off its spell
And binds and rallies every word
To consummate within its well.
Where slave to their master's designs
They rest – no longer free to roam
But lie instead in ordered verse;
They lie at last in silenced home.
And once the final casting stanza
In perfect fullness fills the book
The shaking hand – free and finished
Lays down the mighty Meisterstück.
Poetry by Steve Hagget
Read 1097 times
Written on 2006-10-01 at 19:51
Tags Poetry Muse Pen
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