My Mystical, Magical, Mysterious Muse [repost #7 with revisions]

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Sunshine

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Member Empyrean

since 1999-06-25

Posts 63354
Listening to every heart

0 posted 2001-06-23 08:24 AM

My Mystical, Magical, Mysterious Muse

How does this little one of magical mystery come to you, your Muse?
Is it like mine, for I have a she,
possibly if you are reading this, you have a he?
Mine comes to me in any form she should choose,
my Muse,
most often she comes coquettishly,
whimsically,
most always with a cup of raspberry tea,
although she’s been known for her knowledge of wine.
That’s when words come forth, like thee or thine {and in the distance, we see Randy whine}.

Often my Muse, she is thoughtfully quiet,
allows me to listen to silence,
filled with so many stories, thoughts, places to visit and
places visited
memories of who, what, where and when
she speaks so fast I cannot pen
all of her visions, all of her dreams,
sometimes I catch only pure spun moonbeams
of thought, or sunny rays of spirit, so bright, so good,
there is no word
known to encompass the generous feelings
she imparts to me,

for me,

and I silently quietly cry
“help me, oh Muse, slow down” for she rushes on so.

Where is it she has to go?

Often my Muse is an exacting teacher,
sitting pensively as I dip quill nib to ink,
she pauses me to yet again think,
then in a twinkling
she has flashed away to hide,
while I preside
over paper sheets of linen, smooth,
writing in a groove
of thought compressed with her whispers,
hoping to do her magically woven silence wonders to delight others,
for that is what she and I only want to do, please others…

sometimes we fail, she and I, for we are always in great hurry,
if I were to give her a name for her scurrying
about
it still would not give the impact of her buzzing around,
for she is even faster than that
and I try oh so very hard to keep up, but I cannot,
becoming dull with effort, do then some sleep,
and in my nocturnal slumberings,
see Morpheus overtake me as Muse is at his shoulder,
nudging him along to make dream-think
that I should wake up and write, write!
and in my reverie I know
there is linen paper, quill pen and inkwell full of blackness
to capture all dream-thought,
but I cannot,

I hear Muse laughing her oh so pleasant laugh
alongside Morpheus, his deep voice, chiding, warm,
playing with me,
these,
my two comrades.

Morpheus continues whispering in my ear upon awaken,
Muse continues pushing
quill pen to fingers, going so far as to dip
wing into ink
to brush upon the golden nib

so I won’t lose any words whispered,
but sometimes, she is not herself,
with ink drying upon her wings
as she flings
herself in my direction,
the irritation of her exasperation
leaving me in lousy mood…

some say it is just getting up on the wrong side of the bed…

oh if they could only hear in their head
the words, the words!

Muse shrugs her shoulders
winks at me,
for there will be another day
when she will come and play
with me again, and we
will spend time together,
her and I,
with raspberry tea,
and she,
and me.

22 May 2000
©KRJ

catalinamoon