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Best Muse Poems

Below are the all-time best Muse poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of muse poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Muse Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Muse poems are below this new poems list.

I Still Muse by Price, Franklin
A muse died by Agaiby, Madonna
Waiting For The Muse by DiMino, Joe
My Muse by Love, Jamesa
Muse On The Loose by Negron, Nayda Ivette
A Muse on the Loose by Dietrich, Andrea
The Muse I've Lost by Garcia, Phillip
A muse on the loose by A. Sharma, Dr. Upma
POETRY IS MY MUSE by Walker, Sonia
The Muse by Ainsley, Michael

View all new Muse Poems

The Best Muse Poems

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In The Stars

       Written in The Stars 

-----------------------------------------
Two hearts bleached by the sun
        A poem's - fallen wish
               The Love 
            Of A Life Time
-----------------------------------------

Majestic beams fall from heavens meadow
Two hearts stitched by the constellation
Under the moon's glow 
   You and I
Gazing up into the Starry Sky

This night we sit under the dazzling diamond dust
Our eyes feel and meet tonight 
Stars twinkle a poem of each paired heart
Listen......While......The God's Whisper!

What Is Love? 
They asked
A wish so gently by the stars 
Greeting young couples heart 
Poor but, in love
Mockeries of an old shadow
Light embracing this Auspicious moment 

-Aster Flares-
Intrigued by sad lovers tale
Two souls forever rich- 
Sharing eternity through celestial bliss
Gravitating in the world owned by the stars
A most unfortunate turn of events, 
Romeo & Juliet
Collapsing stars rising with a hymn 
From the moment they fell
Only to reveal how beautiful-- 
-- the stars in the dark
Ever so wealthy, around Orion's Belt
Reading notes on every rhyme, every heartbeat


Stars fall every eve entering the atmosphere
Seeping through the soul, making love a part of light
Permanent illusion
Fireflies Flaring up 
A passion that last longer than a moment

Each  zodiac unfolds
The stars tell you, who you are 
Gaze upon the eternity
Follow the Northern star
Beneath your peaceful splendor 
They will bow
Sunset and the evening star, 
"My Star Of Love" 
Like glitter dust upon a timeless shore
Never will the memory of love be gone
Look up at the stars tonight,
For somewhere out there 
I read about YOU in a poem.

By; PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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Sheol

Dark Knight-tress 

Underneath 
This gown I feel nothing
Silk less feelings
The odor of intimate apparel lessens 
Vanity fare from any sun
Warrior of beauty
Where have you gone?
A fortress of gloom
Not even death wants in
Black nail tips
Brownish plum lips

I close my eyes 
I see them all
The Shadows
Climbing over my soul
The darken deepens 
The stars dim my view
Irremovable makeup
Land becomes an enemy
I become
The Dark Knight-tress
Scolding my next victim

~S~


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2013

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Whisky Moment

~the Fear of Never~ A DRINK TO REMEMBER!


   And the fire catches every time, my heart needs a sip
I bear no shame pouring, poisoned pabulum whisky down 
Lost in a place with hungry whores, ink paying  gigolos 
This night a respected gentleman put's on his evening gown
He sits in front of a mic playing the same old sad song
Fitted out in drag, his wife has no clue
Holy breeders trying to change my shoes
Lingering from the Cute Chinaman, running his tab sky high
Bluebirds of jealousy, set round the vintage Barstool like fools
Minds overpowered and threaten to the very nub

I am drunk-- in his eye, 
He receives a macabre confession of possessiveness 
I am drunk-- in her eye,
She has a sick confession of subconsciousness 

Broken loose from a negative, regressive state of mind
Sit and enjoy this broken bottle of champagne 
Unspoken rage in every empty can left behind
A shot glass drops from my unstable hands longing to hold a pen
I look into a mirror and embrace every meaning of stability
Blotting out the madness behind a metal cage of reality
At times, I feel the need to bring down this masquerade 
A drink so hostile, I can't even remember my image and name 

Too many scars, from the foster of paper and pen
My dependents are drunken demons from a traumatized childhood 
Tonight I will legislate a special thanks
Holding up my cup, until death finds my note 
I will smile, at every Judge and Jury, during karaoke night
Shutting down my eyes, fantasizing everything's gonna be alright
I will not  jilt knowing, writers block haunted my days away
Insecure hoarding monsters enjoying spoil forgotten words
Tonight I thirst like never before, my tongue inscribes around a tin cup
I am not eating up by it, no matter how long I've drowned in it
This is my kind of whisky, my thoughts, my days of ammo 
To tell you the truth, I possess no desire to drink
It's all about the love of poetry and how sober, I become (WITHOUT)
The monsters that reside inside, have one thing to say

"Give me Poetry, or give me Death!"

by: PD


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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Images of feathers

"Once upon a midnight Poe"

Underneath the midnight mask, I remove the makeup at last,
The moon is anvil to my mood, mooring along the vacant vast 
I lay the Gin and Tonic by the bedside asking for more,
I hear a noise, a lost voice, the echoes of no rejoice,
I couldn't brush the light coming from the cracks under the door
I gave it some thought, 
My eyes twinkle, towards the tinsel tiles on the floor
Seemingly the light seemed to be deeming distance of resistance
Curiosity came in crawling and caressing 
To sense and taste of sinful skin 
Everything then grew thinner than thin
On the spur of the moment, I hear a whisper, my love is near
"Darkness there, and nothing more."

A nerve impulse hits the wall if nothing nary, nevertheless 
I sadistically, stagger a sullen movement, even so
In this moment, Edgar Whispered, "nothing more."
Many nights, I dram of demonic demons, demanding answers for
A sad --sadder voice, sits and whines, with the wind
"Merely this and nothing more!"
A notary, nauseate moment, sea sick, shipwreck sensation
Secular suicide spreading like gossip, sailing through my veins
Evilly and twisted, "This it is and nothing more" - that remains

Tweaking and repeating, the speeding of needing
My drugs of pain and passion, to end the delusion
Of the self-inflicted - bruising from the voices of my choices
I hear the whisper, a selfish whisper, asking for Lenore
How many nights, he comes into my room, dress like A Raven
Painted and tainted like the midnight dreary
Reciting the excitement like The Bells, of Annabel, in a rush
Never, never, nameless here forevermore, in my dreams
Under my evil doing skin, like the sum of sin is how it seems

On the nights, my soul mate does not appear, 
The anchor drowns and torments me with tears
I travel up in fear, of the fear, when my ghost is not near
Rattling and trembling, by the bedside, 
On the grim side of the mental moon, when in gloom
I scrape up my room, screaming to the bleeding, 
From my heart, who needs a killing, 
From a feeding and the feeling of letting Poe, go!

By: PD
Inspired by The Raven


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

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Behind These Red Brick Walls

I remember living quietly inside these red brick walls,
a soul, wandering alone through those dark, empty halls,
this is the place where I used to rest my weary head,
now you, another poetic heart, are dreaming here instead.

I was just a poet, a soul like you, so do not be afraid,
this is where I once lived, and this is where I stayed,
I want to whisper my secrets to you, late after midnight,
just hear my faded words, and I will remain out of sight.

There was a lonesome time when I wrote poetry, too,
now I am here, to be your muse and inspire you,
100 years ago, I lived on the other side, only now,
I dwell just behind these red brick walls, somehow.





(A sequel to my poem, "These Red Brick Walls")




Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014

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Warm December

My warm December, unexpectedly,
you graced my world and brought such joy to me.

My warm December, You are something sweet
embracing me. Oh, please do not be fleet!

My warm December, how I wish to keep
you like a lovely dream when I’m asleep.

And how I wish to have you ever near,
my warm December dream so ever dear.

December of my dreams, my youth has passed.
You’re all that’s left, but how long can you last?

Oh, warm December, wrap me like a  coat,
inside your ermine dream to ever float.

(This December was very warm and inspired me to write this;
also this is dedicated to my muse!)


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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As I hid

As I hid behind the darkness of Spring's cool night there she stood dreaming


Copyright © James Peranteau | Year Posted 2010

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REFRAIN ON THE 6th

Ethereal poetic musings create celestial visions,
like a gymnastic athlete with lively colored ribbons,
renewing life as circles of light swirl into exotic symbols.
Lights flicker as cameras flash to perpetuate the scene,
holding spectators captive with imagery astounding.
Celestial visions overwhelm sensations ne’er forgotten.


5 June 2016
Free verse

Inspiration: Visual #1


For the contest, The Best Of 6
sponsor: Nette Onclaud

Placed 6

Voted POTD 7 June 2016


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016

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Muse On The Loose


Where did she go...she left me in a spin,
     with words fragmented...where do I begin?
She took my thoughts held tight within her arms,
     and now I fear I'm left without her charms.

My missing thoughts and words in pieces lay;
     without a plan, they'll stay in disarray.
Where did she go, that artist of my soul;
     without her lead, no thoughts, no words, no goal.

My muse is on the loose, oh help me, please.
     She's gone for good...or is this just a tease?
My muse is on the loose, what happens now...
     I'm crushed, forsaken...this I can't allow.

I looked into the den where books are kept;
     way high up on the shelves, and then I crept
down cellar stairs among the antiques there,
     then up again, climbed second story stair.

I looked in every corner, neath the bed;
     no sign of her, but then I soon was led
up to the attic with great window view...
     entranced, she sat, and that is when I knew.

My muse was on the loose to find new scenes,
     and now beside her, inspiration streams.
The vision of the mountains, valleys, sky... 
     so beautiful it made me gasp and sigh.

Together we sat weaving thoughts and words,
     while hearing the sweet lullaby of birds.
I learned a poet's muse must be set free
     sometimes to find new views successfully.


Sandra M. Haight

~2nd Place~
Premiere Contest: Muse On The Loose
Sponsor: John Lawless
Judged: 09/12/2016

Iambic Pentameter in Couplets





Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

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DRUNKEN MOON

~twice the beauty~


in the sea of love 
reflection of the night 
a wave moves


~SKAT~


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2015

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Endymion,Lover Of The Moon

On summer hills I watched you I know you watched me too Every night you waited for me Every night I came to you From shallow oceans I have risen On silver chariots traveled high Crossed everlasting spaces which filled your empty sky Soothing manna showered your lips from the radiance of my light Crazy love I poured in your heart on each lone and serene night Humble shepherd boy Endymion You haven't chosen death,nor life In eternal sleep you've slumbered and made of me your wife You must have been a poet with a will to live our dream with a want to preserve passion for the last abiding crescent of the evanescent moon Selene.
Inspired by the Greek myth of Selene,goddess of the moon and Endymion and by beautiful poetry.


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2014

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Spill Ink

Spill Ink—the poets’ timeless warp and woof;
Signifies our mantra beyond reproof;
Late at night as poets struggle to write;
Our Muse enchants poets to such delight;
Poets seek tone and tenor for a splash,
And images and nuance for a dash.
"Spill Ink!” Poets cry seeking perfection!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved 
(October 18, 2014) (Rhyme Septet)


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

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Elicit Illicit Lucid Dreams -contains nudity-

~JSLambert does not (currently:) use, or encourage hallucinogenic drug use.

    Telepathic psilocybin prescription erasing elastic depression. Competition 
wanes, just when nocturnal emission drains. Lifted poetic wing clipping. This 
party only makes sense to those encrypted with unconsciousness. Scalpel in 
hand, methodical break and entering, break dancing meninges remove 
portions of brain doin' the bitchin'. Ah, this immaculate incision! 

    Lucid dreams vacating turnstile vibrations, deteriorating horrific screams 
douching eardrums. Ultraviolet eyes fortified by THREES---Mind-Body-Soul, 
rolled up into one huge trinity. 
    
    I'm moving asses fantastic. Call me the "Proctologist of Poetry". 

    Electrify words, regurgitate, choke and vomit the crock of crap-ola. Venture 
down butter slides until the sky goes red. 

    Still too uptight to listen? (don't pretend in comments that you read this 
entire poem if ya' didn't) glisten, be kind, rewind, let liquid swords chop away 
fat weighing upon your forces. Once doors of perception swing eyes wide 
open. Devour the false to magnify hate. I love you the same. I love you, never 
in vain. Hearing your verse lifts a heavy curse carried in shame. 
    
    As a child, I had no fear of apocalypse, or world hunger. No, phobia meant 
running out of words to give, to receive, from lips. It haunts me to this day. 
Tho' the bliss of poetic language's kiss, soothes the cries. Altruistic sighs! Now 
we dance! Dancing Harmony times three equals harmonize! Tour your Third 
Eye, yir' Karma-eyes!

    To the heads that said, "NO CAN DO!"- We've weaved advice for you. File 
illicit deeds away, for in dreams we are connected, Siamese twins, at the 
wrist, spellbound paradise! Let go of doubt, negativity= below zero. Work it 
out! Crash whiplash angles 'till friggin' rectangles dangle through 
kaleidoscopes of style. Poet trees smear the cosmos. Let go! THREE will never 
be alone. Bestow the glow, thorazine vapors escape secret tombs where 
peroxide cleans wounds. Fusing two Toots in common with Nefertiti. THREES. 
    
    Elicit illicit lucid dreams gushing ejaculatory melodic screams. Orgasmic 
spasms...vas deferens between actual sacks and Staff of Ra polluted sticky 
streams. Peddle the bicycle high, annihilate attrition, like motivated Mormons, 
door to door men, on a worldwide mission. I love you, I miss you...witness the 
vision...alive in the schism!

*credit A.Horovitz, A.Yauch, M.Diamond, Billy Corgan


Copyright © JSLambert Mister ROBOTO | Year Posted 2014

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ERATO MUSE OF POETRY



1.
Uninvited you come, oh Erato*, muse of poetry, the 
Majority of times,
Knocking at my soul’s door at any given moment
Insisting to let you in, your message to deliver
Disregarding at what state my soul is and if she could 
With your request comply

2.
Oh, muse of poetry, when with my soul’s inspiration
You are flirting all the time 
Whispering in her ears words of wisdom, coming 
From your divine essence 
My soul, mesmerized, tries the words of wisdom, 
Lingering in her depths, again to remember**

3.
A difficult task it is indeed, I admit,
For the language of heavens that my soul, once 
Knew very well, now she has forgotten**
Because of her association with her mortal body 
For that reason, oh divine muse,
Be patient with her and give her just 
A little more time

4.
The time that my soul needs, divine muse, to learn
Or rather to remember
How to talk and to express herself in writing the
Way you would like: 
In accordance with universe’s harmony and
Its eternal laws 

5.
When this blessed hour comes, my soul able 
Would be, poems to compose 
But 
Her writings, her creations and her poetic epics,  
The work of you would be, oh muse,
No credit would, my soul, claim 

For

She knows very well that only an instrument she is,
Oh muse, into your godly embrace, 
Just to be used according to your desire
Because only you, oh muse of poetry, know 
How  
The universe’s poetic language should be used 
And how, in verse, it has to be 
Delivered! 



© Demetrios Trifiatis
  30 SEPTEMBER 2014   

* Erato, one of the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne  (memory ).
She is the Muse of lyric poetry, love poetry and marriage songs.

** Socrates, Greek philosopher 469-399, believed that the soul knows the truth but because of her association with the body, after her incarnation, she forgets therefore what we call learning is in reality a process of remembering as it is indicated also by the name of Erato’s mother, Mnemosyne, (memory).
 
A poet should always follow Erato’s instructions that comes in the form of inspiration, in order to reach the desired result. This is because erato’s knowledge is unadulterated for it is divine!  

 


Copyright © Demetrios Trifiatis | Year Posted 2014

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Rebelling muse

Intoxicated, my disillusioned pen rebelled,
no longer did it know the difference
between write and wrong, so how could I right?

My muse rebelled further, by becoming a vegetarian,
refused to compromise or meat me half way!
Why? because I ate meet?

Oh my brain will you have a word with that muse,
why has it found a pretext to descent from my views?
Now my inspiration is in dissent, immensely bemused!

OMG! Did that verse just rhyme?
Guess it was only a matter of time!
Now that I know the difference between right and wrong; Yay!
No longer does my muse dissent nor descent in things to say.
Who said a vegetarian and meat eater could not meet half way?

24 March 2016
Wordplay extravaganza - Poetry Contest by John Hamilton
This is the challange. Use Homophones, words that sound the same but with different meanings, and spellings: ie, presents presence- rain reign rein etc.





Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016

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El Amante

My melancholy turns to gold dust
in your soft and tender hands
upon your fingers I scatter my life
my love remains clasped in your hands
now I am a vial of cologne, emptied...

I yearn to see your lissome creeper
how it clings to cracks on the walk
well, just as it entwines the cement altar
Mi amor, that is how I yearn to embrace your heart
I used to stumble, now I am sustained in you...

This night I yearn and sigh for you
to see you sleep, hands on your chest
sinking into our bed like rosy fruit
from smooth pastures into the depths of our mattress
as the air enters your chest and raises it chastely...

Amante, steal away to me in the night
we will see how peacefully the moon rays
create quiet waves without unsettling the hush
just as it passes into the gulf is the way
I yearn to sink to the very bottom of your soul...

Fly to me from your snow white orchards
you love is ever so immaculate
my naked soul will tremble in your hands...



Copyright © Ken Carroll | Year Posted 2013

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Happy Solitude

Co-authored by: Teddy Kimathi


Sometimes I find bliss
lying on a carpet of grass,
and gazing at the moon -
wondering whether it knows
that stars surround it every time;
wondering whether it knows some
people have worshiped it for eons
until now;
wondering whether it knows I'm
staring at it......

Entrapped by beauty
enslaved to everlasting solitude
ages come and go
the peace of time remains; to the
--desolate surface of the barren night
wondering whether it knows,
I'm mesmerized by its natural state
with Solace to the open mind
my spirit that of a recluse
Wondering whether it knows
the silent open sky is the enigma
emerging from beyond, finding bliss,
wondering whether it knows I'm
captivated.....

~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~


Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2015

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Ode to blank copybook pages

To the blank of the page of my book. My ever present sailing boat. Makes me journey through seas which I look and choose the fish as I take note of your waves, incomplete and stark-white. Replete of space you promptly prick, Her my muse. She – awake – starts to fight. She kicks and twists; my will’s made weak. I let go. What to do? So she wins, And I, pick up the pen and draw, Or perhaps make a sketch of my sins, Or even scribble something raw. Disappeared; no more gaps. A full page. I look ahead and see a board. Teacher frowns, but you’re gone – my great mage. Sad truth: my concentration soared.
08.06.2016


Copyright © Timoteo Neves | Year Posted 2016

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Poet's Heart of Gold

Giving Thanks 

In advance, I wish to heal the mind, body, and soul
Thanking all God's creatures
Coating all my expressions from-
-Yesterday, today, and tomorrow
Conceal every worry, 
Focus on the goodness that fills my spirit with thankfulness
And, well, honored comments. 

This is a rich tribute to:
All Poetry Soup Poets, with grateful and appreciating hearts
Enjoy the time, you give each and every Poets

:)


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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Amusing

He writes to me in curly cues painting 
fractals on pressed paper made of rice.
Shreds of simple stalks are beaten to 
bare the smoothness of his script.

We have not known each other long
but we have known each other since
man first made fire, the poet and his
muse. His presentation fascinates

with swirls of brush or indian ink
he strokes, both deep   and long,
with pleasant pressure most often.
His words though highbrow smack
of pent passions, watering palates 

and earthy scents. The wanting so sweet
no reality could fill    the expanse, the 
oceans of prose,   the mountains which
jut provocatively, daring, inviting, the cleats

of man, use pinion and hammer triumphantly
upon the bounty of breast, the thigh of night
the whimper of dawn. Poet preen for your muse

Caress the unsullied parchment whiteness
in the hollow of my neck.


First Published in Pyrokinection May 2013


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015

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Sonnet to a Fine Poetess

I know a very fine poet, a dear colleague, who’s so exquisitely talented and bright,
And has a superb facility with words and themes making all fit perfect and right;
She has an unrivaled mastery of the poetic art and writes with the best approach,  
And has an unparalleled ability to write the finest verse beyond any reproach. 

This poet’s sense of depth, empathy, and poetic variety is quite splendid to behold,
And she brings such compassion and power to her work worth its weight in gold;
With well-conceived themes and images she invites readers to her special dimension,
While enchanting them magically with sublime verses and holding their attention.

This poet communes with Our Poetry Muse, seeking her scope and enchanted vision,
And shares amply all with her readers with enraptured intent and a perfect precision.
Our friend’s poetry reflects always the human dynamic with such power and grace, 
And she finds the right tone, tenor, pitch and rhyme—putting them in proper place.
 
I must say I’m very proud of our colleague’s work and appreciate so her fine poetry,
And I’m so glad she’s with us and gives us such beauty and elegance in her poetry!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, Schoeningen, Germany
(November 9, 2014) (Shakespearean Sonnet in a Rhyme poetic format) 

*****Written for the “It’s All About Me Contest,” December 4, 2014*****


Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2014

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A Christmas Callgirl

Everyone has gone home
Where ever home is
The city is bare
Only me
And the call girl left
We share our secrets
In silence
Comrades in despair
The cold winter chills us all
So we two find comfort
In a passing moment
She kisses her past
I kiss my desires
Our tongues kiss our dreams
A Christmas carol plays in the background
Snow begins to fall
Madeline must now go
On another call


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

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A Rendezvous With My Muse

Poem Sleeps in my mind’s Emblem. You gleam Heart's dense traffic With themes I lean To call for word To screen
+++ November 30, 2014 Form: Musette Dr. Ram Mehta Eighth Place win Contest:Whispers of a muse by nette onclaud


Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2014

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Princess Flower

My sweet Emma, I placed the purple flower in your hair and you smiled. Carefree you danced as the royal color of your shift swirled in its dappled patterns. Heaven could not have made a more perfect vision, every movement a whirlwind of charm lost in a world with too little beauty like that of the innocent flower in your hair, enchanting in its simplicity.
03/01/15


Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2015

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Her Muse Says

At the beginning of your life
there was a mellow September medley

of word-berries, ripening for the picking.
But before the fruit, the pain.

Art demands blood gobbets of sacrifice
whittled to bare bone, raw and pared down,

before new verse shrieks its bloody birth.
Keep your faithlessness in check, stay true,

wrapped up, as you are, in your silk spools,
glittering a diaphanous language dance.

Keep your ear attuned to the stillness,
listening for those otherworldly word-wisps,

that will-o-the-wisp waltz with inspiration,
its ephemeral here-then-gone.

Do not thirst for an oasis of words,
but trust that after each drought

fresh words will gather and burst
like first drops of rain,

a new lexicon storming your head.
And though you yearn and burn for normality

it was never your fortune and forte.
Know that new life takes many guises,

creation is different for all;
it is the human condition and call.

And at the end of it all
awaits a springtime of ripening word-buds;

each one that curled dormant in your heart will unfurl
poems blossoming into perfumed flowers.


Copyright © Charlotte Jade Puddifoot | Year Posted 2013