Best My Muse Poems
What if love is my muse,
and you are the rosy
red poem in my soul?
Will you lead
my ink to feel
your warm air—
thaw hail in
this iced mind?
When dim rays
fall as pale hues.
I sit and gaze
at the calm
halo of the moon,
in your sky from afar.
I seek for a silk sign,
to feel the echo of your
sigh near me.
So when the
last leaf does wilt,
I will rest my pen,
and seal my eyes,
to read you like fine
art in a gold book
of firm vows.
But what if the heat
of hurt sets
fire to the
navy blue page
of this tale?
Will the seas then
ease my pain?
or will I be lost,
as I fade like a grey star,
from dust of hazy dusk?
Can this song be the
tune to your life?
For I miss you more than
any cues can tell.
Yet when you are gone,
your name will
be my last sigh,
and this love will glow
like the sun that will rise
amid cold onyx rain.
Not all the worlds belong to me
Not all the words set me free
What the heart loves
is of will
I just free some words
to confine its spill.
****
A time, my words
on my papers sashaying
the shape to me alluring
the tone of their steps
I hear
as they are dancing
the music they are following
the soul, in a trance, just listens
without interfering.
****
A time, along with my Muse
we keep to each other
our hearts baring
secrets sharing
silently, knowingly connecting..
When it comes to share
our worlds in words
that’s the difficulty!
“That’s to be spelled”
“No! It can’t be!”
“That belongs to my world of poetry!”
“No! that’s a huge part of me!
no words allowed to touch
its beauty!”
****
How dare you invoke me
then deny my poetry!?
How dare you be wedded to me
and deprive your soul
of my verse and divinity!?
****
In my womb
you shape a life.. a reality
a present.. a past memory..
and what is to be..
And you still think
you spill your words out of will!
****
I inspire..
I own the fire..
I pave paths, not all
able to bear the burn
But those blessed
with divine grace
the power to mystery embrace
The ones who, a feeble voice
render a sublime poetry!
****
“All my words can set you free
just follow me!”
I have my say
With my best wishes
Your Muse of poetry..
Silent One contest
October 5th, 2020
Hey dear muse, come out from behind that chair,
You can’t hide from me for your hair is too fair,
And I desperately need your input, creativity and flair,
For I am totally blank of late and need you to dare
Me to say things, I perhaps never would, yes don’t glare.
But like a naughty child you skip out of human sight,
Needing some space, but I need your shining light,
Somehow I know you won’t be gone for too long a while,
As I need your great imagery, guidance and fertile style,
Always been there for me, a great comfort, I have to smile!
I really need you my flirty muse, now more than ever,
I want you to ponder, perhaps show me how clever,
You are, I would like you to try with your every endeavour,
To help me, I’m well and truly stuck, please return however,
And help me to write and encourage me with whatever.
I paid little attention to my muse in the years gone by,
Silly me, and she has such bright ideas, and would never lie,
We get on well, refer and exchange thoughts and, on her behalf
I must confess she’s hysterically funny, she has such wit, I laugh,
I love my muse my eternal dreamer – in height a pint and a half!
So excuse me, won’t say too much in this write or use my imagination
For she still hasn’t returned, and I need her desperately for inspiration,
Wait, I hear the bath water running, is she back, without any hesitation,
I pick up my pen and try to write something which needs poetic creation,
She’s gone to sleep, no ideas till tomorrow, together we’ll discover elation!
All night I was ensnared by the thought of you,
An unexpected yet enchanting muse,
Lost in the labyrinth of your deep, haunting eyes,
A smoldering ember of desire within me lies.
Your passionate whispers, a seductive symphony,
Unapologetic affection setting us both free.
To trace the trails of your warm, silken skin,
Knocking softly at your door, as you let me in.
Your embrace, a refuge from the chill of the night,
As we entwine beneath the moon’s silver light,
Breathless sighs and fervent moans,
You ascend atop me, you’re my queen and I’m your throne
In this nocturnal realm, you reign supreme,
A midnight monarch in a gothic dream.
In the middle of the night,
when the butterflies
dance to the moon's song,
I create constellations
with the map of my soul,
allowing astral lights
across feathery skies
to guide my chrysalis
heart back to an avenue
of cosmic reveries.
I lay in a bed of
delicate petals,
and dream-catchers
designed in emerald
swallowtails.
They remind me
of how I found my home
in the gossamer warmth
of your lunar
struck presence.
And when sirens echo,
across silent seas,
distant muse ebb and
flow symphonies of
mystical mermaids-
grieving at the
outskirts of
bioluminescent shores.
For in your absence,
I long to hear your voice,
as the crystal clear
crescent glimmers,
amidst the fragile truth,
floating above
a flurry of glass-winged
jitters, that camouflage
with hypnotic tales
lost in the air.
Tonight I’ll lock
my pollen dusted
dreams in slumberland..
where peacock pansies
interwoven with
pastel peonies,
would be tucked
beneath sweet
scented sheets..
Your love is the
perennial blanket
to all my
nocturnal fears,
as hieroglyphic runes
of life rhapsodize
a lyrical elixir for the
shifting spheres,
whilst change is cloaked
in mellifluous hues,
unraveling a choir
of nature,
orchestrating a
celestial chorus-
to illustrate
cloudless mornings.
Autumn will forever be the season of death to me,
but like time, I do not remain cemented in the past.
Memories of ghosts will always lead me to the stars,
as everything we love fades away eventually,
like shells lost in a forgotten coral reef -
but in every pain there is a lesson.
As I watch the last icicle of winter drip away,
I eagerly anticipate the return of the butterflies.
To float softly in orange, indigo and ivory,
gifting kisses to elliptical tulips and narcissistic daffodils.
I remember whilst killing time,
wayward winds of winter swept away the name time forgot.
I wandered bewildered where the paths have no name,
drifting into a world of depleted ideologies.
Boredom led me to an entity of virtual hypocrisy.
Where many self confessed queens sat upon phony thrones,
claiming self declared, self obsessed sovereignty.
Demented demons and Devil's disciples,
destroying the wonderment of words,
I felt fatigued from false pretences and virtual vultures.
Until an unhappy confused and cloaked chocolate geisha,
gifted me the sincerity of her intimate inkless quill.
Replacing bleeding tears, she bled alliterations,
expressing her once hidden heartbeats from paradise.
Her vocabulary of vivid visions left me with breathless sighs.
An unpredictable poetic phenomenon,
with a volcanic mind, harmonious heart.
Was I even a poet before her presence gave me life?
There are no superheroes in poetry,
but I ponder if Romeo did not die,
would he have created a poetic garden for Juliet?
My muse is a flower garden, loyal to the core,
enchanting in evergreen picturesque petals,
spreading lilies and lilacs in barren meadows,
because in the darkest night you are the light.
Silent One
21 March 2022
The gryphon guards Scythian gold
The phoenix guards with riddled clues
But the powerful love and light of God
Will protect us from the likes of you.
Carpe Diem
I set my morning muse alarm for 2am.
But instead, it went off at three.
"Wake up!" he said, "It's me."
I reached for pen and paper. "Stop
fumbling, and turn on the light," he said.
"Or, you'll never be able to read
what I'm putting in your head."
"Why are you being so bossy?" I asked.
"Sorry," he said. "But I'm in a hurry
to get to the next poet's bed."
It’s gone! It’s gone! It has really gone
I've lost my sense of humour
I used to write quite funny poems
Now they are a distant rumour
I have hunted round to find my muse
It’s not in the cupboard or in my shoes
I've even moved the old armchair
(Only found a sticky toffee under there)
So I removed the dust and the ball of fluff
Now I've lost a filling and I’m in a huff
Well I've hunted high and I've hunted low
Folks I really must confess
My humour has deserted me so
And it’s left me in a dreadful mess
So I’m putting out an urgent plea
If you find my muse please send it back to me
Then I’ll write amusing poems for your delight
From the break of dawn to the dead of night
04~19~15
Humourous Poetry – Thomas Martin
When starlings were swimming in the azure lake,
When bats and owls began their nocturnal ride,
When all the Earth under a dark blanket lay,
And man and beast into sweet repose retired,
My Muse, like a sweet temptress, came to me
To set this captive free, to give free rein to my fancy.
She sang into my ears the lovely strains
Of a placid melody, bathing me in sheer delight
Creating in me a passion too intense
To articulate my disjointed thoughts
Into vibrant melodies of beauty and love.
Soon fireflies of thoughts came flitting,
Like bees around a looted honey comb.
In a butterfly net, I trapped them all.
They clustered together in a clumsy heap,
Making my darkened zone bright
With little arcs of shimmering light.
I placed them carefully in an ordered strain,
Word after word, in meaningful sequence,
Fashioning them into a beautiful symphony,
Arousing in me mystical spells of joy.
When your Muse comes knocking at your door,
Delay her not, but let her in
And go for a merry ride with her
Into some sleepy glades where silence resides.
There, let her magic wand kiss and caress you
From head to foot and all over,
Awakening your fancy from deep slumber,
Parading before you, scenes of beauty and wonder,
That, songs of passion are born from you
Gushing forth in streams of honeyed dew.
So, write on....!
I thought we were friends; maybe something more
She could quell a blaze or make the flames roar
Between every trial I watched her strength grow
Always at my side through each turbulent row
But then so many came so fast; storms so severe
One after another, til there were no more tears
No sorrow no hate no love; only echoes
I stood alone. Her voice lost in the throes
I searched inward and saw every bruise
With each break and rip I stood accused
So much blood, too much damage to truly know
Which was the cause; which gave the grueling blow
It was then that I saw; a fate she did not choose
She wasn't on holiday ...life had killed my muse
I see in creases no others found
where souls seem low
and duty bound
where sparkle waits
in dreamlike states
amid anxious eyes
here her smile lies
I see in darkness under guise of moon
where beauty moves
no heart's immune
where kindness roams
alive in poems
held deep inside
my muse resides
My muse, my friend, like you, I'm a dreamer,
treading upon the fickle path of fate;
tending to the scars, time left on my soul.
Memories have me looking inward,
writing poems to console my loneliness,
lamenting how rainy day blues have levied their toll.
You've shown me the beauty of morning dew,
and the surreal, unfathomable reverie
of dreamy places, and had me flying with the birds.
Sometimes, it feels like I'm walking on broken glass,
or drowning in a bottomless sea:
till I hear you whisper encouraging words.
Citing the beauty of life and the inevitability of death,
you taught me that grief is love with nowhere to go,
and made me one with the spirits in the sky.
Saturated in solitude, there is a dream place,
filled with ebon veins of old thoughts;
where childhood memories still make me cry.
You, like me, are a poet born from grief;
broken into a thousand beautiful pieces,
trusting that time will numb our pain.
And collecting all the pieces to life's puzzle;
I swim against an undercurrent of melancholy,
only to find that hope starts to flounder, once again.
For many years I trudged along
(but in my heart there was a song)
through life’s hard game of give and take;
my muse once sleeping is awake.
The rhymes inside were always there,
but never had a thought to share;
kept to myself for prudence sake;
my muse once sleeping is awake.
Then one day Debbie did suggest
these rhymes be shared with all the rest,
to have these thoughts is no mistake;
my muse once sleeping is awake.
Now ink flows freely from my pen,
and graces parchment now and then;
she’s always here with rhymes to make;
my muse once sleeping is awake.
July 15, 2019
Poem of the Day - July 17, 2019
An exuberant falcon she is, isn’t she?
Being the aviator of my flight of thoughts.
Cares less she to heed, whenever in adoration, I
Do call her for a chat - she is a mischievous trickster.
Every time she dawdles, I give her a gentle prod;
For then, she arrives in ripples of reasoning,
Gleaming in reflections of my own contemplations.
Hues of insights kindle my mind’s spectrum as
I follow her to the unexplored layers of landscape - a
Journey for the moment - as we drift across the
Kaleidoscope of nature, when through seamless
Loops of thoughts, I crochet and disperse my ink
Meandering over dreamy mangroves of my mind.
Now she’s disappeared, but where’s she gone?
Oh, she can vanish in a flash like a lightning! - a
Playful penguin - it’s hard to grab her attention; the
Quick-witted queen of my boundless imagi-Nation, who
Refills my thought pot and sows fresh seeds of fancy.
Sometimes with her capricious flaps, she glides away
To coax her to stay back more is beyond my ability.
Upon the labyrinth of life, we travel together.
Voices of many a mind, whispering and rumbling,
We hear as we ponder on the vast sea of life. My
Xanadu of inspiration, when she appears out of nowhere.
Yes, she feeds my brief reveries with pearls of perception - a
Zealous advocate, she is, of my passionate ink.