Muses Poems

A Sculptor Muses

Never to discover
the limits of soul
Such is the depth 
of its station

The nature of being
not what’s distilled
But what’s left
— from evaporation

(Septa R5: March, 2025) 

NOSSIS ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS

NOSSIS

There is nothing sweeter than love.
All other delights are secondary.
Thus, I spit out even honey.
This is what Gnossis says:
Whomever Aphrodite does not love,
Is bereft of her roses.
—Nossis translation by Michael R. Burch

Most reverend Hera, the oft-descending from heaven,
attend your Lacinian shrine fragrant with incense
and there receive the linen mantle your noble child Nossis,
daughter of Theophilis

My Muses Alloute

This is for my muse
It’s her thoughts I use
If in doubt, I’ll call her out
When we disagree.
After all she’s me
And I’m glad that she’s about.

Then she’ll go away
On her holiday
So, I’ll wait until she’s back
Ask her what to write
She is always right
My muse’s words never lack.

my muses

When I begin to draw
Is it me or someone else?
I do not know where these ideas originate.
One minute I have a blank canvas.
Half hour later I have created a village
Pirate queen, gnomes, faeries, goblins,
Mushroom houses, butterflies, lilies and such

When I begin to write
I also doubt these words are my own.
There is an entity utilizing my

Sappho Translations XV

Sappho Translations XV by Michael R. Burch

Gaia, rainbow-crowned, garbs herself in myriad hues. (168c)

We ran like fawns from the symposium: me, Cleis and reckless Gongyla. (168d)

Destiny is from the Muses, / and thus I was destined to leave him / to become / Sappho, Mistress of Song. (168e,f)

Unknowing of evil, I was pure innocence. (171)

Eros,

Sappho Translations VIII

Sappho Translations VIII by Michael R. Burch


Sappho, fragment 68
translation by Michael R. Burch

That was then, this is now!
In those days my maidenhead was in full bloom,
then you …


Sappho, fragment 135
translation by Michael R. Burch

Golden Persuasion, Aphrodite's daughter,
how you deceive mortals!


Sappho, fragment 88
translation by Michael R. Burch

Why, Procne,
delicate swallow, daughter of Pandion,
why do you weary me

Of jaded muses and digital distractions - POTW

The allure of mused poems,
No longer visits this nonchalant psyche.
It trickles now, once a roaring torrent
Now a lazy stream

Am like a desultory jaded heaven
Where starry jewels once decked the night,
But are now drossy shadowy blackholes,
And sparks and dreams, 
Are ripped in the accretion disc.

No longer avid, but seeking meaning in the mundane.
No longer enraptured by

The Muses

"The Muses"

Allusions 
camouflaged confessions 
I have read them all, each page

envelopes emptied
turned inside out 
pockets of Poésies 

they sprinkle their messages
like confetti, minds  popping 
like corks, frothy and overflowing

some kind celebration 
cupped and bled
stories of fairy-flossed confection

the sugar compote 
cooked in the head
before dreams

are laid 
and set

I have read them all
envelopes emptied 
inside out

Allusions
all

Masons and Muses

the untimely measures gathered beneath solid 
structure as hands fold the numeral gestures 
gravely carved throughout the roman empire 
while the daintiness of quiet muse's reciting playful 
tunes through a calming poetic mannerism while 
surrounding hidden notes while mastering an 
illuminating symphony of words at times within 

a dimly lit sphere of complete solitude ravishing

A poet muses

How I wish readers miss me...

It has now been one year since he died, 
What emptiness the poetic world feels! 
His genius as days pass the more reveals, 
His memories we hope would new pens guide 
And his honest concern would be well billed, 
Many a young mind was inspired by him, 
All wonder-stuck on

Muted Muses

We may need a rest left here
right now
said the Muse
to his Warrior
and her Sage.

In compliant spirit,
Sage feels a rest not
not significant
in music's octaved stories
of wealthy
deep cultured 
enlightening revolutions

Anticipating a Warrior's peaceful relationship
between sound of tears
and silence anticipating fears
of dwindling years

Resting nonverbal
and arresting verbal
Muse full and empty
nonviolent communionations
resonant +/- Sage of time-squared Light,
resilient 1/0 Warrior of

The Wayfarer and the Thirteen Kingdoms Part 2

The seventh kingdom sings that he was a drop of gold 
Who fell from the sky of golden sunlight to earth so cold 
Dragons brought that drop to their caves thousands of years old 
It grew into a gold child who shone for all to behold 
A white dove baptised him, and brought him back

Circling Muses

Music
especially sacred music
feels round

Not such clear lines
prescribing desecrating marches
needing to move somewhere
noting something
speaking against someone
in StraightWhite privileged time

Right/Left balancing divas
sometimes sing in resonant rounds,
round
and round
in circling spirals
never-ending spectral ribbons
eventually blending communion,
emphatically good-spirited
and not dogmatically ill-natured.

So,
to liberated lovers
lusting Left
toward green cooperative choices

And,
to conservative clingers
leaning Right
toward red competitive voices

If you must shout
to overcome dissent

If you can't sing
and,

Strife of the Muses

(Do you know what’s worth fighting for? 
There’s no point starting this strife. 
I need to get down to the core, 
We both know who’s better.) 

Happy days! You finally admit, 
Green Day is both our favourite! 
I will never agree with my foe, 
Alec Benjamin Rules, we both know! 

Green Day won’t let me

My Muses

I used to scoff at the thought
of Greek nymphs inspiring artists,
but those nine gals, especially
Calliope and Erato blees em,
have moved right in.

They’re a great help 
around the house.
I have put them to work
cleaning, tidying, and doing the dishes.

I.C.E. raided my house the other day
wanting to know if I employed illegal aliens.
The girls, forewarned,
hid themselves in

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