Bj Legros Kelley Poet Rhyme

Miscarried Poetry

                                In the night I heard her voice
 
                                       bidding me to rise,

                               I hadn't heard her in awhile

                                but was not a bit surprised.

                              I'd heard her often in the night.

                                 ignored her gentle pleas 

                                  To help assist in birthing

                              'neath the towering poet trees.

                             
                           Sometimes she left me groaning

                                as I tried to block her voice.

                          "I am sleepy!!" I'd kept moaning,

                          "Midnight sleeping is my choice!"

                             
                                 Refused to play my part,

                                  help birth poem-child.

                                        Muse's heart

                           
                            I'd played the role of midwife

                             And assisted muse's quest,

                              But oft at night I promised

                           That come dawn I'd do my best

                           
                           Those nights I gently slumbered 

                       With my muse silenced, encumbered

                               For dawn I often tarried

                        Many poems thus left miscarried
                              
                         
                           Muse hung her head in silence, 

                           But one night , she fled away;

                            I waited in the morning but...

                             My Muse came not that day.

                            
                             My pleadings left unheeded,

                             -- a long silence proceeded.

                            and I languished in my heart

                          For I had failed to play my part

                                     
                                     So sorry, I, 
                                       now left
                                  forlorn............

                                    Her midnight

                                   Poems too oft 

                                       stillborn.

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Andrea Dietrich September 19, 2025 at 1:38 AM What a cool extended metaphor in this poem. So creative

Rowena Velasco July 27, 2025 at 7:51 PM I really like how this poem shows the push and pull with creativity—how the muse calls at night but sometimes you just want to sleep. It’s so relatable and honest about the ups and downs of writing!

Sara Kendrick July 27, 2025 at 4:58 PM Isn't it worrisome when a poem starts to float around in the brain in the middle of the night. LOL..I like this one, BJ. Thanks for sharing it with us. Sara K

Valsa George July 11, 2025 at 9:46 AM Our Muse comes to us at unearthly hours when we are in a mood to sleep. If we repeatedly ignore her pleas, she will no more visit us, day or night. So, pay heed to her requests and invite her into our presence. Beautifully written, dear B.J.