| Magic of the Muse |
Poetic inspiration is an ephemeral thing. A poet can go for days, weeks, months or even years before he or she experiences that magic moment of inspiration - that catharsis - that epiphany.
When that special inspiration comes and a poet feels empowered to put pen to paper, it is a truly magical moment.
Writers throughout the ages have described this dazzling, coruscating explosion of creativity as "The Muse". It suddenly appears and then it is gone, leaving the poet in a limbo of doubt and hope, wondering whether it will ever appear again. This muse is like some form of Halley's comet. But at least with Halley's comet you know that it will come back on a predicted date. There is nothing predictable about poetry. The only thing we can say for certain about poetry is that it avoids the very idea of predictability.
The poets brought together in Magic of the Muse have all experienced that sublime moment of creativity. And all have been able to put their poetic drive into words, for us to read.
Some of the poets have allowed us to include a short biography giving details about themselves and their poetry.
THE PRINCE, POPE JIM AND A PAUPER
A prince, Pope Jim and a pauper
Were flying on a private plane
I can't explain the reason
It helps the verse, in the main.
The plane developed a fault
The need to bale out was nigh
But with only two parachutes handy
It meant one was destined to die.
The prince rudely snatched the nearest
Crying, "I'm far too handsome to die."
He leapt from the stricken plane
Leaving Pope Jim or the pauper to die.
Pope Jim addressed the scared pauper
" My son, I've had an excellent life
You take this parachute here
I'll pray myself out of this strife."
The pauper faced his holy companion
" No, you have this parachute, Pope Jim
I'll take the one here behind me
The prince took my rucksack with him."
Mary Wood, Hull, East Yorkshire
Mary Wood said: "If you enjoyed The Prince, Pope Jim and a Pauper. you will love the many other humorous poems featured in my Twisted Humour series, published by UPSO Ltd. Titles include Twisted Humour, Twisted Humour Unleashed and Twisted Humour Exposed. Log on to www.twistedhumour.co.uk to see more examples of my work, news, reviews, competition and on-line order details, or place an order at your local bookshop. Be prepared, these books carry a humour warning!"
EASTER FRIENDS
Nicola
Beautiful blue eyes
Twilight clouds
Cross summer evening sky
Heather
Amber honey eyes
Raven hair
Saturday morning sunshine smile
I’m a singing fool
Good Friday
We lost a friend today
Andrew Bruce, Liverpool, Merseyside
Dedicated to my mum Margaret Bruce 1928-2005. Your heart bigger than an ocean. Thanks for a magical life mum.
LOVE LOVE LOVE
I’m
sick to death of listening to you moan
It’s so depressing groan, groan, groan.
You know your life is not that bad
But you are becoming sad, sad, sad.
Make yourself feel good, get out and give
Help someone else to live, live, live.
Be yourself and rise up above
Feel free and love, love, love.
Sheila Bradley, Hull, East Yorkshire
THE DRAMA INSIDE
Annoyed, let down, betrayed.
Waiting for the pain to go away,
It will take some time, for the sun
Again to shine,
While still feeling bitter, like a long
Cold winter.
Waiting for the rain, that may wash
Away the pain.
Sharp bitter disappointment and built-up
Resentment.
My drama inside, I try so hard to hide.
Malisa Perriton, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Tyne and Wear
SIR LANCELOT, OH LANCELOT
Sir Lancelot, brave Lancelot, of Lady Guinevere,
Who, Arthur occupied with war, sneaked in for that there ’ere.
Sir Lancelot, oh Lancelot, why do I swoon and pine?
How can I break down your defence, persuade you to be mine?
Oh Lancelot, dear Lancelot, what are your ageless charms
Enticing me to be ensnared in metal-cladded arms?
Oh Lancelot, Sir Lancelot, your casing quells my heat,
Especially when I think of spurs entangled in the sheet.
Dear Lancelot, Sir Lancelot, with heaving chest unseen,
How can we consummate our love with armour in between?
Sir Lancelot, my Lancelot, I have bolt cutters ready
And should you step within my bower, I’ll try to keep them
steady.
Oh Lancelot, you must contain your ardour over night,
For iron is tough and hard and sharp, and chain mail’s
knitted tight.
Oooooh, Lancelot, Sir Lancelot, restrain your natural urge
Until, all reinforcements gone, our bodies can converge.
Sir Lancelot, bare Lancelot, as dawn comes redly creeping,
This metal work has tired me out, I’ll spend the next hours
sleeping.
Una Dowding, Hucclecote, Gloucestershire
STRESS
I
walk along the water’s edge my mind a
million miles away
Thinking of the mundane things that confront us every day
The ups and downs the arguments the sibling spats
We often wonder why we are here so many complicated facts
Then we see the wondrous sights as we stroll around
The birds the trees the rippling of the water and for a moment
peace is found
So at the end of your stressful day take the time to walk and
ponder
As this will ease your stress and help you live much longer
T J Skeels, Wisbech, Cambridgeshire
PAST TIMES
When we sit and muse on life, how wonderful it can be,
For magic moments then abound, and past times we see.
When we were children running free with laughter in our eyes,
And schoolroom pranks that were such fun, causing much surprise.
The meeting of our one true love, the kisses and the tears,
The breaking up, the making up, then marriage for many years.
The arrival of the babies so healthy, fit and strong,
What joy, what love, what happiness when such blessings came
along.
Life can be good, it can be bad, but to muse can help us see
What makes the world go round and how things used to be.
It is said that love makes the world go round, and this we surely
know,
For when we ponder in the past then it will tell us so.
Jan Imeson, Allington, Lincolnshire
ANDREW MY SON
What can I say to you
Remembering what we have both been through
Our ups and downs over the years
For all the times we’ve shed our tears
You have always stood by me through thick and thin
How can I ever begin
To thank you for just being here
For I have shed many a tear
But you have never let me down
So just before I go to town
I just wanted you to know
Just how much I love you so
So that when I leave this life
In a world that's full of strife
Just how much I appreciate you
And take pride in all you do
So thank you Andrew for always being here
When I needed you the most after losing all that I held dear
Enid Skelton, Luton, Bedfordshire
THE DARK MARE IN THEE
Now
the mare’s a thing of fire,
Fuelled by the heart’s desire,
Needs space and grace to burn,
When trapped back it must turn.
The border breaks the field,
That shrinks and starts to yield,
And implements the change,
Which devours her precious range.
Then round and round she goes,
Her own smoke burns her nose,
Her lustre fades in fact,
And her coat reveals the black.
And darkness lays thee low,
And nothing holds a glow,
Can’t raise the rut therein,
To free the mare within.
How dark the mare in thee,
Oh, to break and set her free,
To lift the load from she.
Who’s lost internally.
John Matthew Jamison, Glengormley, Northern Ireland
WISHING WELL
I am a wishing well,
People think I’m pretty swell,
Before I go on, my name is Isabel
You put a coin in your hand,
Throw it in me, then it will land.
Make a wish, but tell no one
Then your wish will be done.
I’ve got lots of coins inside me,
I wish I could set myself free.
I need a coin to do my wish,
Knowing my luck, I’ll turn into a fish.
Lots of pennies all around me,
If I could reach, I would wish myself free.
Isabel Bass, Tonbridge, Kent
Dedicated to Caroline Bromley. Thank you for all your help to push me to get my poems published. You’re a true friend.
Isabel Bass said: “I’m 40 and have been married for 18 years. My husband Graham and I have four children, Kirk, Kirsty, Kayleigh and Kiri. Graham and I have lived in Staplehurst for 20 years. My hobbies are writing, singing and dancing. I’ve been writing poetry since I was a little girl. My family and friends have always enjoyed reading them. Caroline Bromley, deputy head at Staplehurst school, kept encouraging me to get them published as well as my mum. I hope to get my own book published in the future and I just hope everyone will enjoy reading it.”
MUSQUASH MEMORIES
Musquash musings link me to my past,
The silky folds wrap round me snug and tight.
A cherished keepsake, clinging soft and light.
The coat itself though was not bought for me
But for my mother many years ago,
In times of glamour, but for warmth not show.
In the early nineteen-thirties when she
Reached twenty-one, my mother danced and
Partied, enjoying being young; the coat
A gift from someone dashing, dark and strong.
It’s a living, glossy glimmer of a
Life I did not know; seven decades
Down the line it shimmers fresh and new.
A treasured family artefact, I cosset
It with care; it represents a fragile
Bond with audacity and flair.
So, can I feel exempted from the pangs of guilt
I feel, when I walk proud in an old fur coat
That doesn’t look brash and doesn’t
look bold,
Just definitely, ethically, out of vogue?
Sue Hearne, Oxford, Oxfordshire
THOUGHT IN TIME
Hold a thought for a single moment
Cherish its golden glow
Like a note from a song
Keep it still
Capture its essence
Savour it.
Flavour it.
Classify and clarify
Refine it.
Design it.
Feed the notion.
Carve the reason.
Chase the answer.
Create the wish.
Before realising it full grown.
Only to lose it in a world of countless forgotten moments
Martine Gafney, London
Born in North London, Martine Gafney has interests including flying, writing, DIY, listening to music and collecting bears. “I’ve always enjoyed writing and developed an interest in poetry in my teens. It is a great way to relax and release emotions and stress,” she explained. “My work is influenced by life events, dreams and people and I would describe my style as creative and inventive.” Martine works as a support assistant in a primary school and has an ambition to see her stories and poems published. “I have written six novels and a dozen short stories as well as many poems,” she added.
MY BACON BRINGER
What is mine, belongs to her,
That is what is right.
It is she who puts food on my table.
She sends home the bacon.
And yet,
We have never met.
I’ll sit down every night,
And put pen to paper,
Forget the events of my day,
And remember the face of my bacon bringer.
Neville Teacy, Macosquin, Northern Ireland
SEASONS IN SONG
Remembering the first day, a day in spring
Sitting under a tree and wanting to sing.
Holding on to the moment as if my last
Yet now that the spring and summer are past,
Who would have thought that in autumn could be
A day of my life and a new love for me;
A love of the words ebbing and flowing
Like the sound of the sea or a well-written poem.
Watching the sun on the sea as it dances
Across the waves as the tide advances,
Listening to hear the words of the poem
Before it is written the lines not yet knowing,
The song of life brings these things together,
Spring, summer, autumn, whenever, whenever,
Again I remember and hear and see
The first day in spring and a new love for me.
Irene Marshall, Torpoint, Cornwall
Irene Marshall said: “I live in Cornwall, a beautiful county for a poet and writer, giving inspiration for poems which have gained places in Poetry Cornwall twice and in Bright Voices and Still Life. I am also published once in the Cornwall Review. Poems are complete stories; small pockets of our lives, but sometimes larger and spilling over into other people’s lives; but however long the period lasts, it can still be put into a poem, and that’s the beauty of it, a miniature story; like a creature caught in a teardrop of amber, mostly beautiful and sometimes not quite so, but usually interesting.”
MUSIC
Wind, percussion, fingers on keys,
Strings sending notes on melody breeze.
Casting vibrations around and around,
Pleasant sensation from musical sound.
Into the air and on into ether,
Notes musing there caress one another.
Melody calling me, out from this plane,
Taking my soul off and then back again.
I see all the visions that music arouse,
As out into the ether my senses cruise.
The colours of music enfold every note,
As sounds onto paper composers hand wrote
I feel not forsaken when music is done,
For the vibrations linger to play on and on.
Music’s completeness, which keeps my mind whole,
Its rhythm is nectar and food for the soul.
Renée Shaw, Chichester, Sussex
CANDID
Don't be too candid
You will be branded
A liar and a cheat
Feel the heat
Don’t try no more remember what’s
in store
You should know the score so don’t implore
Don’t wear your heart on your sleeve
Unless you believe in in love and manna from above
Time flies fast don’t live in the
past
Your shadow will cast a painful reminder
If life’s a grinder then don’t break the china
As your mind strays and your body disobeys
Let your love grow and let your love show
Don’t fall for a woman let your brain govern
Your actions without distractions and unfriendly factions
And on a winter’s night when your
intent is right
Just while away the hours as your mind empowers your
Thought
Don’t let your emotions come to naught
Brian Lunt, St Helens, Merseyside
Born in St Helens, Brian Lunt has interests including football, guitars and music. “I started writing poetry two years ago for inspiration and my work is influenced by Lord Byron,” he remarked. “I would describe my style as modern and I would like to be remembered as a successful person who made something of his life. I am a poet by profession and my ambition is to work hard.” Aged 46, Brian has a fantasy to be a wealthy Victorian and would love to be Lord Byron for a day. “I have written many poems and had several published,” he added.
FLYING THROUGH THE AIR
I was flying through the sky
Way up high when I could see the people
As I was flying by and
I looked down from the sky as the people
Were walking by then I was flying up in the sky.
Sandra Elizabeth Goddard, Kingston, Surrey
BEL CANTO
From which world does this wonder shine its light
That brightens darkest shadows of my being?
Bestowing gifts of beauty in its wake
Whispers silver music - colours dreams
The magic spells out words in varied tones
It burns with greatest heat of golden suns
Which thaws out thoughts and ventures far beyond
That speaks to me in strange and foreign tongues
What vision it brings forth that I behold
Huge tapestries of woven vistas veiled
Will weave themselves on many different themes
And hang so high on any wall of choice
From which world does this wonder shine its light?
At times it dims and hides itself from view
It comes and goes and sometimes reappears
And guides me through the world we both create
M J Charles, Welshpool, Wales
THE PICTURE
We stood together contemplating our desires
Amid a sea of colour filled walls
Contrasts of country to deep back and white
Money people ready to call
Phones at the ready
Choices to be made
Pick up your treasure
Come on, don’t be afraid
Then just one out of all, picks you out
Don’t know why, don’t know how
Got to have it, have it now
The picture of magic, come take your bow
Elizabeth Corr, Corby, Northamptonshire
BLESSED ARE THEY THAT EXPECT NOTHING
FOR THEY SHALL NOT BE DISAPPOINTED
’Twas
his avowed intent
To write but for amusement.
To strive yet not arrive
To make a point in one’s creation,
Not seen by those alive
Doth lead to sad frustration.
Best think he to smile
At their naive denial
And with a satisfying sigh
Let his writings with him die,
Tho' they make uncommon sense,
His failing heart should be content
Passing no trace element
Of his unwanted influence.
Geoffrey Martin, Milton Keynes, Buckinghamshire