My Muse Poems

THE LORD IS MY MUSE

THE LORD IS MY MUSE* 
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The Lord is my muse; I shall not despair. 

He giveth me inspiration; he leadeth me to magical waters.

He restoreth my creativity; he float-eth ideas in my mind, for poetry’s sake.

Although I write in the early morning hours and darkness of night, I will remain tireless; for thou art with

You are my muse

I wonder: would you make me your mistress
lost in a world of poetry under your wings
I’ll celebrate heaven's gift; more to me a tortured love
wretched wishes: life's greatest anguish 

our heaven's in sight, you see my eyes
voyeur, I see you looking at me
don't try to love me if you can’t, I will not break 
the

SHE IS MY MUSE

She is my muse
The gentle pause after a long thought
The spark that breaks the silence
When words refuse to come.

Her face
A stanza unfolding
Her body
A sonnet in graceful motion.

There’s something in her smile
Like dawn’s first light
After the darkest night
Clearing the fog in my mind.

She is my muse
My refuge when all is lost
When language falters and falters
She is

Trixie My Muse Keeps Me on the Edge of my Seat

her thoughts are mighty and marvelously influential to me.
I call her Trixie, my muse, she is truly the ultimate queen bee.
She won’t leave me alone, she’s like a dog with a hankering for duck.
How do you write so often? Other writers ask. Is it some kind of luck?

It is my muse, she is persnickety, tenacious

My Muse Trixie is one of a Kind

ideas don’t have time to percolate
Trixie yells them at me, this is my fate
Some of them are lame, not witty or great
Fearing Trixie’s wrath, I do not hesitate

As muses rank, she is truly first rate
her fantastic ideas we do not debate
she can create a poem from an apple crate
play dough, umbrellas, or a rusty grate

She

My Muse Trixie Makes Fun of Me

my muse is plotting every inch of my time today
I try to escape but there is actually no way
on writing poetry and fiction, she is hardily keen
I cannot refuse Trixie, for she is insanely mean

no prepositions, she orders me in a stern way
But verbs and adverbs are okay, for they are merry and gay
On a

My Muse Writes

Relaxed while my muse writes, I watch her think
and link words that ignites
with creative verse insights.
Her thoughts then with me unites.

Afraid of Trixie My Muse

Yesterday I sat down to do a bit of reading, light
Trixie, my muse said you are causing me a blight
All she ever wants to do is paint, cartoon or write
I knew I could cause an enormous artistic fight

I put my fingers out of my muse’s persnickety sight
afraid of her sword and willingness to maim or

my muse

finally shut her trap,
did the job
of being herself,
letting me
observe
in the quiet—
god, 
the yapping
made her, 
too human
it's like she thought
she was the artist.
now look:

line breaks
sharp again—

enough to keep
breaking
backs, morale, 
slogging 
the ten-ton-taken-for-granted 
stones
up-up-up
Sisyphean hills,
still—
 
I miss her 
jibber jabber.

My Muse

Has she left me? I wonder.
‘It’ is not the same as it once was—
The passion and the playfulness,
The tumbling of words
Finding appreciative expression.
Bereft of ideas, bereft of thought,
All my efforts coming to naught.
Dreams of she holding me tight
Once sparked metaphors deep in the night.
Now, it’s ages anything was penned,
And this was never how it was

My Muse Is Under the Credenza

I want to write a poem today
but the wood insists on ritual—
Pledge and patience, lemon oil,
a soft cloth circling
what must be remembered. 

The coffee table’s judging me.
The hutch has turned authoritarian.
Even the banister
is giving me splintery side-eye,
and the bureau just rolled its drawers.

My muse, naturally,
has curled up in the dust bunny
beneath the credenza,
refusing to come

depending on my muse

I am an hour early and I stopped for gas
I laugh at my ridiculous punctuality
This gives me time to sign her birthday card and put up a swingset
The mall is dead this morning; is it not open yet?
I do not think people shop in person any more
This might be proof

There are six cars here, by

My Muse Me Muse

My muse me muse you amuse me.

My muse me muse we amuse unity.

My muse me muse we sometimes amuse abuse.

My muse me muse we amuse our children with charity.

My muse me muse we amuse dying as an art of living.

My muse me muse we amuse gratitude. 

My muse me muse we amuse reading.

My muse me

Fountain Pen Versus my Muse Trixie

The fountain pen ran off giggling and lost his pants
Leaving a string of letters, none of them seemed by chance
How dare he think he can write? Said my non-amused muse
angry enough to give him some really mean reviews

He’s just a pen, a one-trick pony!
Blue and plastic, common, bony!

The pen came back to hear my thoughts
I’ve

My muse aligned

The sun danced on lightened leaves, my muse aligned, in zeal
Greenery of palms with the windy tantrum, touched me , still
The tribal walkway and the rural patsy rushing for more, in pace
The village girl sitting on mud, with her  lonely bouquet of grace
Looking ahead,  felt a perceiving truth of my tambourine sparrow


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