There is no art
But madness—
She conjures the dream
And I the passion.
Calliope: Muse of Poetry
A bird in the house?
No…
Not a bird—
A visitant, a nymph,
A sprite,
A genius of the place;
She’s in the background
Waiting to respond
To certain events
Such as my writing
Late at night
Labouring over a poem
With no one home.
She inspires me
With her longing
For a body,
A shelter, a house
But all I have to offer
Is myself
In these words…
And thankfully,
she’s content
With nothing else.
The muses, those ‘magicians’ who inspire us and make our imagination fly! Sometimes, when we read about how writers are inspired we find that there is that waiting in front of the white page and that emotion, almost amatory, when the words come out and are delivered. A good poem, maestro
Thank You, Nancy! Always good to hear from you.
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STOPThank you!