In my heart, roaring memories, precious
Blessing me with a gentle grace, tender
Like the spirit who taught me, from my youth
To believe in the One who is living proof…
I am someone that God chose, a child of the king
Believing in the love that only He can bring
Lifting my hands to the living king, yes – I cling
To the love that gave me a reason to sing
Oh, how often I sing…
Let the joy in my voice ring, ring, ring
Faith comes by hearing but I know the One
Who silences the darkness, whispers peace to the war
Writing my story in a blessing that never ends
Blessing me with grace that leaves me sure of Him
In my heart, I know the miracle of His love
A greater love has never been – He is the light
A light far wiser, far brighter, far more beautiful
Than anything I’ve ever known or seen,
Anything better, I could never dream
He is assuredly my everything!
For the scant time to commune with my Muse
and from my mind some long-harbored thoughts free
In strings of words I hope would pass for verse--
this time, this chance, fills up my heart with glee.
Yet often when I have scarcely begun
to pen some notions about the world’s sores,
I rue that I can’t help but to purloin
some hours from work and domestic chores.
Ah, to write, to compose without much care
while in full possession of place and time--
What joy I’d feel when I am unshackled thus
to focus on constructing better rhyme.
(This poem is a direct challenge to skeptics who know nothing about love)
You speak of imbalance,
of pain and sorrow,
but our love stands solid,
a form so true.
Square in its goodness,
with all its virtue,
we defy your doubts,
we welcome tomorrow-
A perfect shape
for all to borrow.
To
Stay true to your muse
Needs no outside view
As words from within
Are the ones to choose.
I love you
My heart is melting
I love you
Drops of gold
My blood is flowing
Ich love you
Drops from fire
My idea flies
I love you
Drops from sun
My mind fades
I love you
Drops from soul
My mouth whispers
I love you
Drops from Rubin
My body breathes
I love you
Drops of light
My gentle touch
I love you
Drops from velvet
Frolicking in a fuchsia gown
Amethyst wand in hand so bright
Indigo night sky in town
Rose colored cheeks so high
You could just be my muse
Green eyes seem to see through me
Onyx thoughts find me confused
Dare to grant me what I’m wishing
Mahogany man from a rugged land
One who is steady and silver strong
Tall and true to take my hand
He would be the music to my song
Emerald dreams can come true
Ready Godmother or fuchsia muse
Priceless pieces of art
Untouchable
Yet, the mind wanders....
Lost in a garden of pastel posies, I wander the cobblestones path. Through a lush forest of emerald hues, where I hear the rushing of purest waters rolling onward of emerald blue. Through an opening where weeping boughs break, in a wafting breeze of scented lavender. Wild grass climbs atop a hill of citrine gold. As a soft melody calms my soul, climbing upward, the warm sun rising high, touching a treasure-trove of memories. As a child stops to gaze with wonderous eyes.
If we can say what we can feel,
The mind will shine; the heart will heal.
We meet by chance or so we feel.
There is no chance, there is no deal.
It is an act of God for real.
It was no chance I met him there.
We smiled and talked as we would care.
He dropped a hint I soon embraced.
It was a spark I picked in haste,
It came in time to ring a bell,
And speak of tales so few can tell,
When things remain the same for long,
Some come and say where we belong.
It's not in vain when they show up.
It sends a spark we should get up.
23/11/2025
“This is madness….”
I climbed to the top like Dante
and followed my shadow irreverently
swiftly down the slippery slopes of hell, such beauty
my breath taken away by fearless poetry
a moment exonerated in loneliness
breath like bread is eaten up, a last meal devoured
removed as if it were an illusion
the Schumann in me still silent slowly beats,
the eyes eclipse;
this is madness....
My Life: A Croquis
Candide Diderot. ‘25
There’s a rabbit in the backyard. I see it from a window in my loft. The housemates don’t see it— they are sleeping late. Frost covers the windshield of my car. The year is passing. Saturday it hit eighty degrees. Warm air gushes through a vent. Last night I sang seven songs. Patrons in the bar wanted more, but I went home to read. The song, a ballad, lives in my head. The bartender
said she loved me after I set the microphone down, as if I sang it for her. I’ve known her for years, O how the seasons have passed.
in solitude
The street where I live ends at a ravine and at a grove of trees. In the seclusions I seek, words and melodies play in my head. The housecat sits at my side when I sit down and listen to my muse. I give form to the lines channeled through me. The lines long to be shared.
of the quiet morning
One night I showed the bartender a poem. She said it spoke to her soul. There was music and beauty all around late at night and the soft glow of lights. Outside, a distant star. The next day, a rabbit came out of the woods and stood in the yard. I had seen it before.
a lingering voice
*braided haibun form
I decided to stop writing poems in long hand
Trixie my muse kept running away with my pen
I knew it was her, because the thoughts were assertive
She is the only one here more determined than me
She laughed at my efforts and began interfering with my typing
I would think I had typed one thing, but had typed another
I knew it was her; she thinks she is the leader of the band
It’s not like she argues with me in a civilized manner
It is as if she grabs the ideas out of my brain and tosses them
Replacing them with her own missives, songs and poems
Some days I do not recognize anything I have written
Because they were not written by me. Trixie is snickering.
It’s 224 am on writer’s block shore
An ocean in motion muse still bored
Ceiling fan tan has blown ideas away
Ideas not clear as random on white page
Look at the contests on poetry soup
Try to write for them but that sucks too
Why am I awake if poetry is not in bloom
Guess I will pray and stare at the moon
What’s a chocolate muse less girl to do
Trixie, my muse, runs screaming through the house with ideas
They bounce off furniture, turning into lightning bolts
The drapes are on fire; she cares not
She if foolish and reckless, a wild child who cannot be tamed
Wild knows wild, my imagination says, laughing at her antics
He and Trixie get along great; they are always cooking up something
Lightning bolts are zinging down the hallway
one misses my head by inches, they both laugh,
They are careless devils, my muse and my imagination
The house is burning down! My husband yells from the front room
We are all in flames before they are finished.
I run toward the shed, carrying my laptop.
They follow me, laughing manically.
.
she stood
'tween thuh kilderkinz
hern pierce’n
gaze
az if
familiar with mine
indifference
.
i know you know
that fib
az
in ‘brillator
tiz fit’n
cross’n
yourn mine
eyne
Specific Types of Muse Poems
Definition | What is Muse in Poetry?
Poems Related to Muse
ponder, ruminate, brood, consider, deliberate, feel, percolate, moon, roll, reflect, contemplate, meditate, revolve, weigh, cogitate, speculate, think, turn over, be lost in thought, build castles in air, chew over, mull over, puzzle over, think over,