Muse: Part 1
Pay attention to your muse
Hold her tight
Let inspiration flow
as gold from a vein
Spank her lightly
to send her on her way
Smile that you’ve known her
Love her ‘til you die
And So It Goes...
I met my muse in a book by somebody else. I was prodded into writing, jumping up off my bed to grab paper and pencil.
(I prefer a pen, but could not delay the writing for the interminable seconds it would have taken to find a pen)
Something inside me was driven awake and could not be stopped, like an internal locomotive, and my hand cramped with the sudden fury of so much writing. But why was I prodded so? What was so important to get down on paper? What was I trying to say?
Then, like fading remnants of a dream, the fury passed and I was left pondering the whole event. Perhaps I was merely trying to capture my muse - which we all know can never really be done.
Hell, you’re lucky just to capture a fleeting image, like a snap-shot on the page.
Muse: Part 2
My muse is a man
With a golden dark tan
My muse is a girl
With her skirt all a-twirl
My muse is the sun
Burning hot like a gun
My muse is the moon
Wax-waning bright spoon
My muse has now gone
I guess I’m all done
Be A-Mused (Muse: Part 3)
I believe it’s rude to ignore your muse, to dismiss inspiration when it strikes you.
But I also believe that many people are incapable of even hearing their muses, much less obeying them.
They trudge through life, uninspired and unaware, ignoring all that’s glorious in favor of the dull drudgery of work and toil.
Having no joy in their lives, fruitless and dry like the withered vine... such a tedious existence!
Sometimes your muse must be coaxed and charmed into gracing your presence... occasionally wine or song must be used to lull her to you.
Other times she comes and kicks you in the ass, lighting that proverbial fire to get you out of your seat and back into the throes of living.
Court her gently when you must, drink deeply when she’s generous, be grateful for her time and gracious with your praises.
For hers is the gift that cannot be taken away; it stays with you ‘til you're 'neath the sod.