After a long dry spell I am ready to write again. These past several years I have written poetry in my mind daily but circumstance and emotion would freeze my heart and my hand. In the past I have never re-posted any one poem but visiting my prior posts I came across this "Cruel Account" and thought I'd share again and move on to the second chapter.
The Cruel Account of My Monsieur Feuille de Papier
Monsieur Feuille de Papier
you gawk at me
aloof and empty
blank
you mock my passion
these eyes prisoner
to your harsh and penetrating countenance
it sends chills
down my elastic spine
and i grovel
sup on the terror of your dismissal
my lucid sight grown transfixed at the hint
my red blood boiling
at the suggestion of making love to you
My Monsieur Feuille de Papier
i cannot exist without this making love to you
my lips to your pale face
give a barrage of manic kisses
writhe as i move you to my tango
my rhamba
my minuet of eloquence
of time
of place
of empathy
of the disgraced Mon Monsieur dance
and laugh and drink this contemptible wine
i dare to spill
how you anger me
so fickle your affections
how you torture me
walking out
walking in
hours to days
when you abandon me
shriveled in some despairing universe
soused with only my disheveled name
then again
to return bounding into my quarters
just to kick my protruding stomach
i grow weak mais ce soir
ce soir
une page blanche . . . blanche
your face offers no clue
come
i beg, Mon Monsieur
come
dine on my fever
fulfill my rapture
prepare for me
a warm bath tapped with words dripping
from my severed vein
Yes indeed…. your ‘Mr. Sheet of Paper’ can be a fickle mercurial and quicksilver companion. Totally relate. Every creative person I’ve ever known (or worked with) had a deep longing for inspiration, and also for their creative fires to burn brightly, but having that demands a certain kind of sacrifice. There is something that I've learned.... when your muse starts ignoring you, start being a muse for another. You cannot use up creativity, it’s everywhere. And it can be accessed sometimes in the most mysterious ways. Usually through loving and helping others, and altruism.
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In a more physiological vein: I have also learned that struggling for creative traction can point to physical, emotional, and environmental factors, such as stress, fatigue, self-doubt, physical illness, cancer, heart failure, and cumulative bad habits. Some of the most creative people I’ve ever known lost their gift after a terrible physical challenge, and then there are always those who destroy their gifts with alcohol and drugs, and never get back on track. A sad reality that I deal with occasionally in my ‘Portrayal Series’.
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Overcoming your ‘tonight tonight a blank blank page’ can be a challenging and bedeviling journey. Everyone goes through the dry seasons though. Keep pressing forward. Your poem is a beautifully constructed insight into one writers struggles. Thank you for sharing something so personal, and so doggone relatable. Peace and blessings…. rlc
Very creative. I like the interplay of English and French. Sometimes a blank feuille de papier is all we need to inspire us. I often turn to translating poets in other languages to look for inspiration. Well done!
Still Living on my Feet is the follow up to Tichaona Chinyelu’s first book, In the Whirlwind, which was rooted in a sense of hard-hitting revolutionary black love. However, in this sophomore effort, Tichaona brings the revolutionary essence from deep
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I am glad you are back with us, sharing.
Ron
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In a more physiological vein: I have also learned that struggling for creative traction can point to physical, emotional, and environmental factors, such as stress, fatigue, self-doubt, physical illness, cancer, heart failure, and cumulative bad habits. Some of the most creative people I’ve ever known lost their gift after a terrible physical challenge, and then there are always those who destroy their gifts with alcohol and drugs, and never get back on track. A sad reality that I deal with occasionally in my ‘Portrayal Series’.
.
Overcoming your ‘tonight tonight a blank blank page’ can be a challenging and bedeviling journey. Everyone goes through the dry seasons though. Keep pressing forward. Your poem is a beautifully constructed insight into one writers struggles. Thank you for sharing something so personal, and so doggone relatable. Peace and blessings…. rlc