Poetry is about what we feel
In poetry we express a mood, it is what we currently feel.
So if you date a poem it becomes a log of what you believe or feel at that point in your life.
It's interesting, also, to note how these beliefs and feelings shift.
The Muse of poetry
Throughout history poet's have invoked the muses, as do I. It's because when you write poetry, sometimes it feels like you are grabbed by something much greater, something that makes the words flow more freely and powerfully, almost like it's not you actually writing, like it's something else, which poets call - the muse. In reality, I think that the muse is of the spirit, and that it is one of the gifts of the spirit, and there I shall let it rest.
The Muses are felt!
Now, since I've personally felt it, I know it exists; but it is rare and special. The first time was an amazing experience, I thought it was an angel guiding my hand, but I've found out that the muse does not come at will, but when she comes it is unbidden, like a gift. No wonder poets are respectful of her, and when a poet loses her he is said to have dried up.
The nine muses
1. Calliope - Muse of Epic Poetry
2. Clio - History
3. Erato - Love Poetry
4. Euterpe - Lyric Poetry
5. Melpomene - The Muse of tragedy
6. Polyhymnia - Hymns
7. Terpsichore - Dance
8. Thalia - Comedy
9. Urania - Astronomy
Oh, Our Roses! - April 2006 To leave our home we must pass the roses, Two mighty bushes ever in flower. Those blooms, gifts to our eyes and our noses, That beauty, who made it, by what power? But move we must, and leave you to others; For someone else to enjoy and to love. And we thank you that you gave us pleasures; Nature's delights provided from above. And then in time, we came to see your heads, To kiss again your blooms and smell your scent. But Oh, we found concrete and painted beds Where once you stood so grand under God's tent. But though you've gone in flames you did not die While still you stand and live in my mind's eye.
Mother Earth - Feb 2006 Sweet Mother of all I do honour thee With growing grass and forests and beings that think and see. We are thy finery; 'Tis my pleasure to be at thy bidding. Thy seas that live and breathe, that flay and spume, All kinds of creatures, sharks and whales that blow, Gentle corals and the fish we consume, So too, algae and krill add to thy show. Mountains and rivers, yes these are awesome! So too, the smells and tastes of what we eat. And yet I talk't with thee today - your son, With needs and desires that please you to meet. Ah, how great! Yet I saw thee smile coyly When after rain, I told thee thy beauty.
Muse of Power - 30 Feb 2006 Febu'ry thirtieth two double O six You're back who makes my pen so copious. Are you the ancient muse of rhetoric What is thy name and what is thy purpose? Are you my Mother earth whom I just found A sentient being that enjoys to hear Of beauty covering your holy ground And majesties we whisper in your ear? Meantime I note you are here, and welcome! But talk to me, ah yes, spirit to man. And if you are more than one in my home, Tell me; introduce yourselves, if you can. Thou muse of power show thyself to me, That others may also delight in thee.
Page Revision #17.2 11-2017