On this page: My Muse, The Waiting,
and The Wall.
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My muse is playful and
mysterious.
She has a name, all right,
but she’s not telling.
All I know for certain is that
"My Muse" is enough
of a title for this poem. And I’m
sure she’s a she.
She drops clues and hints
and runs off giggling.
She wants me to make use
of my brilliant mind
and intense intuition
to figure out things.
She knows it all -- the Whole Truth --
and often times
she whispers a seed and leaves
it there to grow
into an idea, or an insight,
even a brainstorm.
She is sometimes annoying.
I try to close
my eyes and my mind
but then she turns
motherly on me. I tell her:
Leave me alone!
And usually she does but
always she leaves
her scent behind -- one I swear
I can’t ignore.
At times my muse is not
there for me.
I call and I call, but she
has no interest.
I fall stupid and uninspired.
But she repents,
seeing my consuming need,
and brings gifts
as always to make up for
her negligence.
© Copyright 1997 Verlene Schermer
All Rights Reserved
All in a while and then
But the waiting,
The when,
Where, and how’ll it come?
Will it tease and
Hint some,
Then in high style, sashay
Into view? Or
This way:
Scare and scowl and frown
At me, bringing
Me down.
© Copyright 1997 Verlene Schermer
All Rights Reserved
At first it seemed like nothing.
From a distance, a mere
Garden wall, marking the boundaries
Between yours and mine.
But as I approached, it grew.
Larger and taller and longer until
Its immense presence blocked
All else from view.
And still I came closer,
Close enough to see the cracks,
The spaces between bricks, the
Spaces within the bricks,
The spaces between molecules,
Between atoms, as they darted
And danced and invited me in
And through the wall.
© Copyright 1997 Verlene Schermer
All Rights Reserved
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