Muse Poems | Examples of Muse Poetry

Verbs almost always start my poems Wake me up, shake me up, dance around my bed until I am up They are frolicking, laughing, dancing Wait! Are these the verbs or my muse Trixie? Trixie adores verbs! They are spinning, whirling, twirling Jumping, leaping, flying. I feel their frenzy. Uh-oh, Trixie has switched to prepositions Her second favorite kind of words I hear around, onto,...

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am i worthy to be one of your poems? i see that you call yourself a poet now? with difference being we no longer write back to each other regrets, heartbreaks and the hearts that you broke you paint those lines with the weight you bore did your heart ever ache on my thought?...

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“The Road to Maximus and Winter’s de-Reckoning” Winter pulled me into Her like I was Her new season and cooly stroked my fevered skin like the contours of my body were the finest Lotus silk an expensive treasure never seen before nor felt She curled into the shaded Summer fox hollows of me and walked nonchalantly without a care...

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dancing in the wind, a stillness rushing thoughts, tis’ mental illness? breaking through the peace in soft light gusts pause over the ghostly night songs awash with flowing feelings the hand of God, posing healings amazing love makes it alright gusts pause over the ghostly night trembling gusts of wonder and hope rustling over hearts so they’ll cope this music will surely excite gusts pause over...

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"Lux Burning" (Narrative found in Short Stories section; failing that, link below in comment box for you)....

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"cor meum" Within the end of "IT" all no matter gender, cause, colour, creed, place in life, entitled or without title, healthy or diseased, or the choice of who we are, who we lay in life with and Love – yet must never harm a child - when that time comes, water in the blood blood in the water, there will be great misspellings...

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“The Blue Nazarene” caeruleum caelum in nubibus caeruleum caeruleum caelum in nubibus de hyacintho nazarene testimonium: white stallions, clouds commanding Christus imperium above all below all below now present to worship a secular ghost stopped dead in their tracks those ridiculous battalions games of war and monopoly the bored oligarchies, their silent sirens their ignorant factions their dark hidden cabal like roaches found crawling under cover in dark...

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“le livre bleu” Terabytes. lonely poets, writers, musicians and artists play here, they wear masks that cover vermillion dripping smiles over sharp little wolverine teeth, they drown their sorrows in their muses - contemporary little monsters – Still Life, they call it “art”, smiles; gothic invested, they adore the overzealous use of the word “lachrymose”, they swallow it up until they’re drowning in the macabre...

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“ragazzino salta” face to the wall reading poetry slingshot spitballs little jack horner sat in his quiet corner once upon a time ragazzino salta your sorry muse, old ‘been, your lawless circus, never mine. Candide Diderot. ‘25 ...

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as the mourning sky w e e p s and crimson clouds crackle bursting forth ...

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Aperta All of my life the window stayed open The good and the bad — beginning to end (Dreamsleep: April, 2025) Verbal Teflon If the message doesn’t stick — the words are in vain (Dreamsleep: April, 2025) ...

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"Americano" filter-dripped watered down weak coffee artificial the mood steaming diluted swings lower, unfilling; the wanting lusciously dark hot to the tongue more rapid complex in richness animated scalding and sharp Expresso piercing arrow shoots straight to the heart. Candide Diderot. ‘25 ...

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I’m like a ball of yarn ready to be knitted But I’m not sure If loose or form fitted Souls would be best I wrestle with myself How can I be a better person When I am so self absorbed Always wanting to be free Yet enjoying the fruits of Union Wanting a kiss Yet desiring virgin lips I’m a walking contradiction With a multitude of...

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My muse provides me nothing with which I can get to work And so I spent an hour on Facebook… boy, am I a jerk A pointless waste of time and space and lots of stuff, all fake I should just paint a wall and watch it dry, for goodness sake There’s videos in Facebookville where you watch things...

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"Ocelots" It was during that time they all decended into the lush fields of poetic madness, swaying indolently with the other tall green poppies, who for once in their small lives basked in noticeability, their blooming heads bending into each other - they didn’t require pollinating, they were ardently self-prophecising; the stings of bees had been smoked out, yet...

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