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I Believe in Muses
Nine to the Universe, the Nine Divine
I believe in Muses, Inspire me to dream sublime
Empress Omega, Betty Shabazz, Nzinga all of the Queens
I believe in Muses, Inspire me to achieve impossible dreams
Your sepia back, so strong and beautiful as obsidian
I believe in Muses, Inspire me to search where truth is hidden
Thighs, eyes, hips and lips, I desire you body and soul
I believe in Muses, Inspire me to an orgasmic loss of self control
Your beauty has inspired men to create, to build, to rise
I believe in Muses, Inspire me to be a King in your eyes
poem by Vince Rogers
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It Is Sad
- It is sad when the cloud form but failed to rain.
- It is sad when you feel hungry and the mouth refuses
to eat.
- It is sad when you smile and the face continues to
frown.
- It is sad when you weep and tears refuses to flow.
- It is sad when you cut and the knife refuses to tear.
- It is sad when the child is more patient than the father.
- It is sad when false is the right answer and true is the
wrong option.
Ponder This now and act later, yesterday comes, today is
going, let tomorrow rest!
poem by Aliyu Ahmad Madi
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Ancora
Good God! They say you are risqué,
O canzonetti!
We who went out into the four A. M. of the world
Composing our albas,
We who shook off our dew with the rabbits,
We who have seen even Artemis a-binding her sandals,
Have we ever heard the like?
O mountains of Hellas!!
Gather about me, O Muses!
When we sat upon the granite brink in Helicon
Clothed in the tattered sunlight,
Muses with delicate shins,
O Muses with delectable knee-joints,
When we splashed and were splashed with
The lucid Castalian spray,
Had we ever such an epithet cast upon us!!
poem by Ezra Pound
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A poets dream
Hippocrene (hĭ p'ə -kren‘) is a fountain on Mount Helicon, Greece, sacred to the Muses and regarded as a source of poetic inspiration.
Mnemosyne (nemoz'ini) is a titan who is the personification of remembrance. She is the mother of the nine muses: “All nine muses have a science or an art to protect. Cleo protects the stories of heroes, Urania astronomy, Calliope elegies, Melpomene the tragedies, Euterpe flute playing, Erato love poems, Tepsicore choir lyrics, Thalia the comedies and Polyhymnia dance and music.”
“The Muses love to sing and dance. They are superior in musical competitions and any one who dares to challenge them will always fall short, just as those who question their importance.”
In a dream I drink from fount Hippocrene.
The daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne
Encompass me while I quench. Nine muses
Guarding their arts from human abuses.
'I'm not here to challenge or to question;
Nor I seek material possessions.
My presence among you in this dreamy
State is caused by my love of poetry.
And you, Erato, muse of all love poems
I'm a sleepy poet asleep at home.
It's known by some you sing beautifully.
Would all you muses’ sing a song for me?
My thirst is quenched from draft of drinking cup.
Please! Please sing for me before I wake up.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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There Is Something Within Us That Refuses Change
So many lifetimes I have lived,
Among some who have just lived one.
Experiences I have had a plenty.
And many I observe have had few,
Or perhaps none from their point of view.
It is difficult to dismiss those trials and tribulations.
And the obstacles that come with growth...
Which are purposely set on one's path to take notice.
So many lifetimes I have lived,
Among some who have just lived one.
Experiences I have had a plenty.
And many I observe have had few,
Or perhaps none from their point of view.
And those making attempts to grasp onto the past,
Are not so eager to let go from that which has detached.
Like the gifts of seasons that come to give, bestow and leave...
There is something within us that refuses change that comes drastically.
Although being a part of 'nature' has not identified that as reality.
It is difficult to dismiss those trials and tribulations.
And the obstacles that come with growth...
Which are purposely set on one's path to take notice.
There is something within us that refuses change.
Although change is all we know.
There is something within us that refuses change.
Although change is all we know.
There is something within us that refuses change.
Although change is all we know.
Change is...
All we know!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Cobwebs in My Mind
You can lead a horse to water,
but you cannot make it drink.
I lead my pen to paper,
but it refuses to write.
My pen is not empty,
but I feel my imagination is
and I wonder if
I have run out of steam.
The world is filled with wondrous things
that my minded refuses to think about.
Once upon a time
my imagination gushed from my pen,
now it’s only a trickle
and only now and then.
I sit here at my desk
and look out the window
at the wind blowing the trees.
Maybe if I stood outside
it might blow away
the cobwebs in my mind.
(10 August 2011)
poem by David Harris
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Those Images
WHAT if I bade you leave
The cavern of the mind?
There's better exercise
In the sunlight and wind.
I never bade you go
To Moscow or to Rome.
Renounce that drudgery,
Call the Muses home.
Seek those images
That constitute the wild,
The lion and the virgin,
The harlot and the child
Find in middle air
An eagle on the wing,
Recognise the five
That make the Muses sing.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Earth Is My Witness
Mother earth look at her closely
she looks at her baby and she sighs
the slight breathing pause that she takes it builds her and
makes her strong
She refuses to give her up
and we close our eyes
Her hands touch the round stomach
and feel the kick
The eyes that have seen so much cry
with the water she starts to rinse her face
And refuses to give her up
And we close our eyes
And you close your eyes
song performed by by The Gathering from Nighttime Birds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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SUPpRESSED DESIRES
Her only home is herself
her only contact to her body
her hands
untouched by man who want
to sleep with her in the nest
of desire,
she refuses all offers
regardless of color and shape
deep within her
pressure is building
like a tornado
but she keeps herself
composed like a placid lake
like an undisturbed sky
glittering with the beauty of
the stars
a volcano is erupting inside
her breasts
she refuses hands and lips
and mouths
her house is herself
abandoned by the sun
and the rain
she is alone and too lovely
still
the moon tonight by her
open window shall be her lover
she is after all a metaphor
of suppressed desires.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Muse Of Life
Black and white horses,
Black and white cows,
All that muses is about life;
Cos', the wind blows to where it is directed.
Brown and white horses,
Brown and white cows,
The muse of life teaches us many tricks;
But, i've got rain and sunshine to crown the day.
The muse of a moose,
The bloom of a flower,
The blues of mankind to take the pieces;
The muse of life teaches many.
'The dish washer is not in the Bible'! !
Shouted the lone-ranger in need of love;
But, all that muses is about life.
Of cows and horses,
Of men and women,
Of Black and White Race to fill the earth;
Yes, all that muses is about life.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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An Old Barn By The Side Of The Fields Of Hay
an old barn by the side of the fields of hay
is nothing but an old barn to your eyes
miguelito
this barn has been here ten years ago and it will be here
for another more years with you
father always
had it repaired before he died and when i take charge
i still come here and think once in a while
what is in this barn
that refuses to be broken
something that negates
the art of losing
it is the memory of my youth
it was here where the hay smelt pungent
for the first time
it was here when i was first
deflowered
changed
don't laugh, it was here that i felt
the first squirt of
my manhood, and her name was not that important
in fact,
she was laughing because i was trembling and she was
so crazy
trying to really teach me, in this old barn that refuses to be broken
in all the years
when our father teased us: weaklings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Consecrated Spot
WHEN in the dance of the Nymphs, in the moonlight so holy assembled,
Mingle the Graces, down from Olympus in secret descending,
Here doth the minstrel hide, and list to their numbers enthralling,
Here doth he watch their silent dances' mysterious measure.
All that is glorious in Heaven, and all that the earth in her beauty
Ever hath brought into life, the dreamer awake sees before him;
All he repeats to the Muses, and lest the gods should be anger'd,
How to tell of secrets discreetly, the Muses instruct him.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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A Little Weed (Fun Poem 116)
There is a little weed in my garden,
which just refuses to leave.
He is a stubborn little perisher
who just will not go.
I have given him a spray
and pulled at his leaves,
but still he refuses to leave.
He stands there proud among the flowers
taunting me day after day.
I am determined to get rid of him
before my hair turns grey.
Days have folded into months
and still I cannot win.
He just stands and looks at me
with a silly grin.
I have even uprooted him
thinking that would do the trick.
Next day he was back
at least, I think it was him
or it could be his twin.
I woke up this morning
and my hair was all white
so went out and told him
I was giving up the fight
and now I have a garden
with not a flower in sight,
just a little weed and his brothers
to taunt me day and night.
poem by David Harris
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Fragment. Welcome Joy, And Welcome Sorrow
'Under the flag
Of each his faction, they to battle bring
Their embryo atoms.' ~ Milton.
Welcome joy, and welcome sorrow,
Lethe's weed and Hermes' feather;
Come to-day, and come to-morrow,
I do love you both together!
I love to mark sad faces in fair weather;
And hear a merry laugh amid the thunder;
Fair and foul I love together.
Meadows sweet where flames are under,
And a giggle at a wonder;
Visage sage at pantomine;
Funeral, and steeple-chime;
Infant playing with a skull;
Morning fair, and shipwreck'd hull;
Nightshade with the woodbine kissing;
Serpents in red roses hissing;
Cleopatra regal-dress'd
With the aspic at her breast;
Dancing music, music sad,
Both together, sane and mad;
Muses bright and muses pale;
Sombre Saturn, Momus hale;--
Laugh and sigh, and laugh again;
Oh the sweetness of the pain!
Muses bright, and muses pale,
Bare your faces of the veil;
Let me see; and let me write
Of the day, and of the night -
Both together: - let me slake
All my thirst for sweet heart-ache!
Let my bower be of yew,
Interwreath'd with myrtles new;
Pines and lime-trees full in bloom,
And my couch a low grass-tomb.
poem by John Keats
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Venus' Advice To The Muses
Thus to the Muses spoke the Cyprian Dame,
Adorn my altars, and revere my name.
My son shall else assume his potent darts;
Twang goes the bow; my girls have at your hearts.
The Muses answer'd Venus, We deride
The Vagrant's malice and his mother's pride:
Send him to nymphs who sleep on Ida's shade,
To the loose dance and wanton masquerade:
Our thoughts are settled, and intent our look
On the instructive verse and moral book.
On female idleness his power relies,
But when he finds us studying hard he flies.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Les Esclaves D’Amour
'Les esclaves d'amour ont tant versé de pleurs!
S'il a quelques plaisirs, il a tant de douleurs!
Qu'il garde ses plaisirs. Dans un vallon tranquille,
Les muses contre lui nous offrent un asile;
Les muses, seul objet de mes jeunes désirs,
Mes uniques amours, mes uniques plaisirs.
L'amour n'ose troubler la paix de ce rivage.
Leurs modestes regards ont, loin de leur bocage,
Fait fuir ce dieu cruel, leur légitime effroi,
Chastes muses, veillez, veillez toujours sur moi.'
--'Non, non, le dieu d'amour n'est point l'effroi des muses.
Elles cherchent ses pas, elles aiment ses ruses.
Le coeur qui n'aime rien a beau les implorer,
Leur troupe qui s'enfuit ne veut pas l'inspirer.
Qu'un amant les invoque, et sa voix les attire.
C'est ainsi que toujours elles montent ma lyre.
Si je chante les dieux, ou les héros, soudain
Ma langue balbutie et se travaille en vain.
Si je chante l'amour, ma chanson d'elle-même
S'écoule de ma bouche et vole à ce que j'aime.'
poem by Andre Marie de Chenier
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To Enact
To use statistics like fanatics.
To control and to attack!
With one purpose to achieve...
The holding of 'some' people back!
To enact...
A meaningful existence.
To enact...
A control without resistance.
To enact...
A rule no one refuses.
No matter who's abused.
Or who's left to be confused!
To enact...
A meaningful existence.
To enact...
A control without resistance.
To enact...
A rule no one refuses.
No matter who's abused.
Or who's left to be confused!
To use statistics like fanatics.
To control and to attack!
With one purpose to achieve...
The holding of 'some' people back!
And this is done effectively...
To hide this as a fact!
To enact...
A meaningful existence.
To enact...
A control without resistance.
To enact...
A rule no one refuses.
No matter who's abused.
Or who's left to be confused!
To enact...
A meaningful existence.
To enact...
A control without resistance.
To enact...
A rule no one refuses.
No matter who's abused.
Or who's left to be confused!
To enact,
Like a coup...
A meaningful existence.
To enact,
As they choose...
Control without resistance.
To enact...
A rule no one refuses.
No matter who's abused.
Or who's left to be confused,
Or fooled!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The First And Last Time
Since we first met, I can’t seem to forget you
You mesmerize me with your beautiful face
There are not enough words to describe
How perfect you are
It’s like you’re my guardian angel
I felt your presence when I needed someone to comfort me
I felt your existence in the weakest moments of my life
I felt your support in every little things I’ve done
And every time you look at me
I’ve felt that you could see right through me
I’ve feel that you could see all that I have been through
All the happiness, sadness, misery, and accomplishment in my life
And I’m glad that I have a chance to know you
Even in just a short time
So now I must wake up in this beautiful dream
But still my heart refuses to let go
And now I must face the facts that we cannot be together
But still my heart refuses to give up
And I just want you to know what I feel for you
Even though you just see me as a friend
Don’t worry about me, I will not be sad
Instead I will cherish the moments were together
I just want you to be happy even if it means giving up my love for you
And I want you to know that I am always her for you as your friend.
poem by Jhustin Sanao
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Roads That Cross
There are roads that cross,
From which one picks to choose.
Hoping to make a correct decision,
To select the best...
Is very difficult to do.
And one does what is thought to be right,
With faith to pray.
And one does what is hoped,
Will not cause confusion...
The rest of one's life to pay.
Yet...
Are there any roads paved with gold,
Cleared of clouds or thunder?
Are there any free of obstacles,
With no sign of pouring rain.
And...
Is there much to gain,
If one refuses to choose?
Are there any roads paved with gold,
Cleared of clouds or roaring thunder?
Are there any free of obstacles,
With no sign of feeling pain?
And...
Is there much to gain,
If one refuses to choose?
Is there any other way,
To live...
With a doing done to do.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Epitaph Of Bion.
Dolefully sound, ye groves and Dorian waters,
Lament, ye rivers, our beloved Bion;
Mourn, all ye plants, and whisper low, ye forests;
Ye flowers, breathe sadly from your drooping petals;
Put on deep red, anemones and roses;
Wail thine own letters, hyacinth, and ai ai
Write double on thy leaves for our sweet poet.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Ye nightingales, in the thick leafage sobbing,
Tell the Sicilian streams of Arethusa
Bion is dead, the shepherd--boy, and with him
Song too is dead, and all the Dorian music.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Strymonian swans, sing sadly by your waters;
Warble a funeral elegy, in ditties
Such as he sung, the rival of your voices.
Tell the Œagrian Nymphs, and tell the damsels
That play in Thrace, Dead is the Dorian Orpheus.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Our friend shall pipe beside his flocks no longer,
Nor sit and sing alone beneath the ilex;
But tunes oblivious strains to sullen Pluto.
Mute are the mountains, and the herd is straying
And will not feed, but wanders sadly lowing.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Thine early death lamented great Apollo,
Pan wept to miss thy singing, all the Naiads
Wept in their woods, and turned to tears their fountains;
Echo is weeping that she must be silent
Thy lips no longer mocking. At thy parting
Trees shed their fruit, and all the flowers were blighted;
Milk failed the flocks, and in our hives the honey
Sunk mouldering in the wax; for no more sweetness
Shall there be, now thy honey--song hath perished.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Not so beside the sea--beach wailed the dolphin,
Nor nightingale in shrubby rocks embowered,
Nor on the long green hills the piping swallow;
Not so for his Alcyone wept Ceÿx;
Nor Cerylus along the dark--blue waters;
Not so in Eastern dells the birds of Memnon
Wailed, flying round his tomb, the son of Ao,
As all lamented for the death of Bion.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Shepherd, with thee the Muses' gifts have perished--
All beauty, and the joy of youthful lovers--
Sadly the Loves around thy tomb are weeping:
Cypris hath loved thee better than the memory
Of the last kiss she prest on pale Adonis.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Thou tunefullest of streams, a second sorrow,
A second sorrow, Meles, hath befallen;
Thy Homer died, sweet prophet of the Muses;
And then, they say, thy glorious son thou wailest
Along thy shallows, and far into ocean
Carriedst the sound of grief: and now another
Must thou lament, and dry away for anguish.
Both were beloved by fountains: one was favoured
Of Hippocrene, and one of Arethusa;
One sung the lay of Tyndarus' fair daughter,
The son of Thetis, and the twin Atreidae;
But ours no wars, nor tears--the god of shepherds
And herdsmen sung he, as his flock he tended,
And bound the syrinx, and milked the sweet--breathed heifers,
And spake of Love, and was dear to Aphrodita.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
All countries mourn for thee, all ancient cities:
Not so mourned Ascra for her Shepherd--prophet;
Not so the castled Lesbos for Alcaeus;
Nor Ceos her old songster; not so Paros
Archilochus desires; and leaving Sappho
Thy legend sings the widowed Mitylene.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Alas! when mallows perish in the gardens,
The crisp--green parsley, and the hardy anise,
They live again, and grow another summer;
But we, the great and strong, the sons of wisdom,
When first we die, unknown in earthy hollow
Sleep a long boundless sleep, that hath no waking.
Thou shalt be gathered to the dust in silence,
But sorry songsters live and sing for ever:
Well have the Muses ordered it, for better
Sing sweet and die, than be like them immortal.
Begin the grief, begin, Sicilian Muses.
Poison hath touched thy mouth, a draught of poison;--
How came it to thy lips and was not sweetened?
What man so cruel that for thee could mingle,
Or offering it escaped uncharmed thy singing?
Begin the grief, begin Sicilian Muses.
Who now shall sound thy reed, beloved poet?
Who is so bold that to his lips will bear it?
To Pan I offer it; but Pan refuses
To wake its melody, lest he in playing
Should miss thy skill, and be adjudged thy second.
poem by Henry Alford
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