"This is not the way these tales end," Calliope Says Firmly

A Tanka Sequence

the muse
crowned with moonlight ...
I stand
naked and daunted
in her shadow

latest volley
in my diplomatic spat
with the muse ...
the words in my tanka
morph into dead cockroaches

the muse
hooded in black ...
clichés
cursing through
my veins

I wrestle
with the ghostly muse
until daybreak
my words of longing
spill onto the page

robins tweeting
on the first day of spring
I cross out the lines:
before time was
poetry was written

Whispers, August 17 2014