Muse Cycle — Page Three

The Muse’s Checklist

Jan ’25

The Muse giggles and laughs;
She looks at my desk with her checklist:
Pens, paper, sharpener, coffee, and cigarettes.
She shakes her head—yes, yes, yes!
She sits cross-legged, just out of reach,
And asks what we should write about:
Empires grand in an epic form?
Or lovers in the night?
Maybe a simple coffee cup?
Or rage against the system?
She giggles and asks about pain.
I sit staring at the blank page,
Clueless about what to write.

The Muse is an Art Critic

Jan ’25

The Muse draws a heart on the frosty glass,
And I sip my coffee as she floats across the room.
She has a wicked grin, as if she knows something.
She climbs onto my coffee cup,
Balancing carefully as she takes a seat.
Miniature dancing legs, so well formed!
She giggles as she asks me the plan.
I hold out my hand;
She jumps on and rides it
As I place her upon the blank page.
She stands and strikes a pose,
Like Degas dancers.
Then jumps and screams,
"Get the book, get the book!"
I stand and reach over her
And get the book of Degas drawings.
We flip through it, carefully examine each.
She jumps and says, "That one!"
We talk and stare, and she moves aside.
I take my pen and start to write of the graceful dancer
Sketched in pastel there upon the page.

A Playful Afternoon With My Muse

Feb ’25

The muse dances on my coffee cup
Tempting me with a joint.
She sat her legs hanging down the side with a wicked grin,
Asking about my misadventures and poor choices.
She pulled orange juice and peach schnapps from thin air,
And said come on you did in college.
She giggled and laughed and reminded me about the late nights
In the Camaro at the Student Union parking lot,
Me nude laid across the seat.
She asked me to put on some Prince,
To write of my past,
When I wasn't yet old enough to know better,
And live recklessly for a moment.
Drunken parties, hangover in class, hair of the dog,
Hidden in a travel mug.
Taking notes with a four color pen
Of nudes of me painted by a lover
For all the world to see.
I playfully push her aside, and sip my coffee,
And joke maybe there’s a poem or three in those college days.