I confess — I am a fallen wordsmith. Years pass but produce rare pieces. I once reveled in metaphor, surely old skills will resurface. The difficult thing is found in inspiration; or the lack there of, rather. This past year wrecked havoc on my ideals, shattered my delusions, and left me stranded in reality. I’m struggling to the surface, knowing I must escape the muck of despair. Yearning for something to believe in, begin again my wanderings on The Way. If ever I regain my feet it will be the doing of words, intricate manipulations of thought, and delicate suggestion of meaning – as I demand there be meaning, I’ll create it if need be. Wake up, my passions…we’ve slept too long.
…Poetic Expressions of the MadPoetess
Long may She Rave
Poems are listed in no particular order but new additions will be added at the bottom.
“Flea Bit Romance” an essay on John Donne interpreting his poetry.