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  • mistermuse 12:08 am on April 17, 2020 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , poetry,   

    HAIKU!….GESUNDHEIT! 

    Pardon me while I celebrate INTERNATIONAL HAIKU POETRY DAY. Haiku, as you know, is a three-line poem of 5, 7, and 5 syllables, which happens to total 17, which happens to be this day of the month, which happens to be INTERNATIONAL I-Already-Told-You-What DAY. So, here are a few lowbrow examples of haiku, guaranteed to ruin your appetite for haiku for the for-eatable future. If you have trouble swallowing any of these, feel free to wash it down with a swig of your favorite beverage, followed by a quart of milk of magnesia. If that doesn’t relieve your groan, you’re on your own.

    ONE TOO MANY (syllables)

    Excuses may be
    easy to make…but they don’t
    make up for your mistake.

    A NEAR MYTH

    Once upon a time
    I tried to make a haiku
    rhyme. Maybe next time.

    HAIKU ON THE HUSTINGS

    Politician beams,
    waves to crowd of strange faces…
    he’s been here before.

    Had enough? Believe it or not, it could always be worse:

     

     

     

     
  • mistermuse 12:01 am on January 31, 2019 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , homelessness, , poetry, regret, , turning points,   

    READ MY LIPS POEM 

    Here in the American Midwest, waking up to sub-zero lows the past few mornings reminded me of a poem I wrote one January more than two dozen frozen winters ago, titled WINTERDREAM….so I dug the poem out of cold storage, blew the snow (or was it dust?) off it, and re-read it for the first time in some time. As I did, it dawned on me that, although published before (both in paper journals and online), perhaps it could stand one more exposure. Then, near poem’s end, I re-came upon the word “lips”….and that settled it (reference the last two sentences of my last post, LIPS SERVICE). Here, then, one last time, is….

    WINTERDREAM

    Suppose a homeless man
    found a tattered hat,
    abandoned, like himself,
    to the elements….
    and in that tattered hat,
    tucked inside the band,
    a winning lottery ticket
    could transform his life;

    but first, he must see it –
    and then, seeing it,
    not toss it to the wind,
    as life had tossed him.
    Let us further suppose
    the deadline to claim
    its prize came at midnight
    of that very day.

    That night, in winter’s turn,
    the man had a dream
    that he could live his life
    starting all over again,
    knowing as much at birth
    as he knew this moment,
    so that all the choices
    and hidden chances
    of wasted turning points
    lay exhumed ahead….

    but the thought made him
    cringe: regret was a fire
    that gave pain without heat.
    He awoke in cold sweat
    to the taste of blown snow
    on the cracks of his lips,
    and pulled down the brim
    of yesterday’s fortune.
    What luck to have found
    a buffer against fate.

     

     

     
  • mistermuse 1:04 pm on August 28, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: cowards, deal with the devil, , Hamlet, , , , poetry, , slings and arrows,   

    TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE, THAT IS THE QUESTION* 

    To see or not to see, that is the question:
    Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to look past
    The slings and arrows of outrageous tweets
    And excuse the lies and insults of our imperial Don,
    So long as such doth advance our noble cause
    And lead us back to the glory of righteous times,
    Devoutly to be wish’d. Ay, there’s the rub:
    For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
    Th’opressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
    The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay,
    The insolence of office, and the unworthy spurns,
    And makes us rather bear those ills we have
    Than fly to others that we know not of?
    Thus devil-deals doth make cowards of us all
    And enterprises of great pitch and moment
    Lie paraded, bare and exposed for all but us to see.

    *with appreciation, but no apologies, to Shakespeare

     

     

     

     
    • masercot 1:14 pm on August 28, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      You spoke that trippingly on the tongue…

      Liked by 4 people

    • Carmen 1:48 pm on August 28, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Agreed, mistermuse. His lies doth offend the nose. (If not the GOP’s)

      Liked by 2 people

    • The Coastal Crone 5:19 pm on August 28, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      I think he “doth protest too much!” Well done & no tweet needed.

      Liked by 2 people

      • mistermuse 11:31 am on August 29, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        I thank one and all for your comments, as we look forward to the day when “that’s all he (me) wrote” re a deposed Lyin’ King.

        Like

    • Richard A Cahill 4:34 pm on August 29, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      May he receive all the slings and arrows of misfortune he merits, Sr. Muse.

      Liked by 3 people

    • restlessjo 5:49 pm on August 29, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      I think the Bard would approve. He made a living from being forthright, while staying on the ‘right side’. 🙂 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

    • Paul Sunstone 10:40 pm on August 29, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Not my favorite subject, the Don, these days. But well done. A very clever idea well executed.

      Liked by 2 people

      • mistermuse 9:14 am on August 30, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Thanks, Paul. I hope I have applied Shakespeare to more learned purpose than this:

        “To know the force of human genius we should read Shakespeare; to see the insignificance of human learning we may study his commentators.” –William Hazlitt

        Liked by 1 person

  • mistermuse 1:13 pm on June 23, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , poetry,   

    TIME FLIES 

    It is said that “Time flies when you’re having fun.” As for me, time flies when you can’t believe a certain young woman and I will celebrate our 50th wedding anniversary this fall, and next year on June 23, the oldest of our two daughters (Big One and Little One) will celebrate(?) her 50th birthday. How is it possible that one day the young woman and I got married, and the next thing we know, our girls are older than my oldest clothes (though not by much). Time and fun fly when ‘hangers-on’ in the closet look the same as decades ago….but the reflection in the mirror looks like Methuselah’s grandfather. 😩

    The moral of the story?

    Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
    Old Time is still a-flying;
    And this same flower that smiles today
    Tomorrow will be dying.

    Then be not coy, but use your time
    And while ye may, go marry;
    For having lost but once your prime,
    You may forever tarry.

    –Robert Herrick (from his poem TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF TIME, 1648)

    In other words, take the advice of legendary songwriter Irving Berlin (1888-1989) and….

    Oh….I almost forgot: Happy 49th Birthday, Big One!

     

     

     
    • arekhill1 2:05 pm on June 23, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      I’m the eldest of seven, Sr. Muse, and a honeymoon baby like Big One. My mother is continually startled by how old I am.

      Liked by 3 people

      • mistermuse 4:03 pm on June 23, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        I lost my mother years ago, Ricardo, but I’m sure she would react the same as yours if she were still alive.

        Like

    • calmkate 3:34 pm on June 23, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      lol wow 50 years is most impressive! Well done both of you, love the song …

      Liked by 2 people

      • mistermuse 4:07 pm on June 23, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Thank you, Kate. The song is one of Irving Berlin’s lesser-known ones but, I think, one of his best, despite (or maybe because of) its simplicity.

        Liked by 1 person

    • scifihammy 8:17 am on June 24, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Time does fly!
      Happy Golden Anniversary for later this year. 🙂

      Liked by 3 people

    • Don Frankel 9:51 am on June 24, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Happy Anniversary Mister and Mrs Muse. Guess it is safe to say…

      Liked by 2 people

      • mistermuse 11:02 am on June 24, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Thanks, Don. I guess, having made it through the first 50 years, Mister and Mrs. Muse can make it through the next 50….and then we’ll be in better position to see if we can handle Everlasting.

        Like

    • pjlazos 6:46 am on June 25, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      So many milestones! Have fun!! Oh, and time is all happening at once so re-live it at your leisure. 😘

      Liked by 2 people

    • D. Wallace Peach 2:53 pm on June 25, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Time does fly, doesn’t it? I went to my grandson’s 5th birthday party yesterday. He’s starting school in the fall. How did that happen? He was just born last week. 🙂
      An early Happy Anniversary, and Happy Birthday to the Big One.

      Liked by 2 people

      • mistermuse 6:39 pm on June 25, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        How lucky can you be, to have a grandchild of that age (or any age), Diana. Enjoy his childhood “while ye may,” because TIME FLIES! And thank you for the Anniversary and Birthday wishes.

        Liked by 1 person

    • RMW 12:50 am on June 29, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Fifty years of wedded bliss…. congrats…. that’s a lot of cat lifetimes. I actually had to use the calculator to figure out what year that was… 1968. For me, life is a lot better now.

      Liked by 1 person

    • barkinginthedark 1:20 am on July 6, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Thank you MM for all the reading…I love this music and thanks for the follow. Barking in the Dark will always endeavor to inform, agitate and, above all, amuse. continue…

      Liked by 1 person

    • Kally 7:15 am on July 7, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Love this song. Advance congratulations to your anniversary and a loving wish for your elder one’s birthday.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 8:30 am on July 7, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Thanks, Kally. You remind me of the Dr. Pepper commercial on TV–you’re “the sweet one.” 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

        • Kally 10:16 am on July 7, 2018 Permalink

          Awwww! I haven’t seen that commercial. We don’t have Dr. Pepper over here but I Guess I’ll YouTube to find out which one! 🙂

          Liked by 1 person

    • Silver Screenings 1:26 pm on July 8, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Every day is a good day for Art Landry & Co., in my opinion.

      Hey, Congrats on your upcoming 50th Anniversay! Woohoo! That is a remarkable achievement.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 3:31 pm on July 8, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Thanks, S.S.

        Art Landry’s was one of many popular big bands back in the Roaring Twenties. I should probably devote a post or two to remembering some of them: Paul Whiteman, Fred Waring, Ben Selvin, Leo Reisman, George Olsen, etc.

        Liked by 1 person

    • franklparker 11:49 am on August 16, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Loved this. You may have beaten to 80 by a year three but I claim victory in the marriage duration stakes and having a child over 50. (55 and 53 respectively this September). Must follow you and read more of your poetry and politics.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 11:59 am on August 16, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Thanks, Frank. I, too, must read more of your posts as time permits — as if it ever does….so I’ll just have to take time and like it (which shouldn’t be too difficult, based on what I’ve read so far).

        Like

  • mistermuse 9:39 am on June 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , cursive writing, Egyptians, , hieroglyphics, , physicians, poetry, Sumerians   

    THE WRITE BROTHERS 

    Ancient Sumerians wrote in cuneiform;
    Ancient Egyptians wrote in hieroglyphics.
    Ancient Americans write in cursive form;
    Impatient physicians write in hieroglyphics.

    As an ancient American who still writes poems in cursive form, I wish my fellow fathers everywhere a Happy Father’s Day. 

     
  • mistermuse 12:02 am on April 11, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , National Poetry Month, poetry, , ,   

    ZEE POET OR ZEE COMIC – WHICH EEZ MORE MORONIC? 

    In my April Fools’ Day post, I noted that April is NATIONAL HUMOR MONTH. As a poet of sorts, wouldn’t it be funny if April also happened to be NATIONAL POETRY MONTH?

    Well, as you might guess,
    it turns out that, yes,
    that is the case….
    and this is the place
    where poetry and funny
    join together as oney
    until death do them party
    or are doomed from the starty
    by comic rigor mortis
    or a poet out of sortis.

    Oui, mon ami — this is going to be a post which joins zee art of zee poet with zee art of zee comic, and if you don’t like zee combinaison, you can lump eet. What’s more, I’ll do more such posts, zee likes of which will have you begging for merci. So if you know what’s not good for you, you’ll take eet and like eet….or take eet and fake eet. I’m not particular. (I’m also not hungry — I think I eet too much.)

    Understand, I’m not one of those poets who doesn’t understand what he has written, but somehow expects zee reader to. Non, mon ami, I understand perfectly what I have written. It’s YOU who I expect hasn’t a clue. Why is that true? I have no clue. And, frankly my dear, I don’t give a fous (pardon my French).

    Unfortunately, I see that my allotted time for this post is almost up, so zee funny poems I was going to publish here must wait until next time, for which I apologize. Thank you for your very kind attention….or, as zee Hoosier Hot Shots more etiquettely and poetically put it:

     
  • mistermuse 12:01 am on March 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , Irish curses, , petulance, poetry, , , savoir faire,   

    VERSES WITH CURSES 

    Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

    May the devil write your obituary in weasel’s piss. –old Irish curse

    Hold on — how did that get there? Either the devil made me do it, or me computer is up to no good (which wouldn’t be the first time). To be sure, me fine lads and lassies, this post is about curses in verses, but a curse alone does not a poem make. As for that derelict curse above, there are no weasels in Ireland unless you count the sloat (which is often mistaken for a weasel) or the lowly human (which often acts like a weasel, but technically is not).

    Be that as it may, I haven’t got all (St. Patrick’s) day, so let’s get on with it. Here is a cultivated selection of VERSES WITH CURSES which, not least among its Hibernian virtues, could serve to show America’s petulant President how to insult his inferiors with a bit more savoir fairy (class, in plain English) than is typical in his limited vocabulary:

    THE CURSE by John Millington Synge

    Lord, confound this surly sister,
    Blight her brow with blotch and blister,
    Cramp her larynx, lung, and liver,
    In her guts a galling give her.

    Let her live to earn her dinners
    In Mountjoy with seedy sinners:
    Lord, this judgment quickly bring,
    And I’m your servant, J. M. Synge.

    from THE CURSE OF DONERAILE by Patrick O’Kelly

    Alas! how dismal is my tale,
    I lost my watch in Doneraile.
    My Dublin watch, my chain and seal,
    Pilfered at once in Doneraile.
    May Fire and Brimstone never fail,
    To fall in showers on Doneraile.
    May all the leading fiends assail
    The thieving town of Doneraile,
    As lightnings flash across the vale,
    So down to Hell with Doneraile.
    The fate of Pompey at Pharsale,
    Be that the curse of Doneraile.
    May beef, or mutton, lamb or veal
    Be never found in Doneraile,
    But garlic soup and scurvy kale
    Be still the food of Doneraile.
    And forward as the creeping snail,
    Th’ industry be, of Doneraile.
    May ev’ry churn and milking pail
    Fall dry to staves in Doneraile.
    May cold and hunger still congeal
    The stagnant blood of Doneraile.
    May ev’ry hour new woes reveal
    That Hell reserves for Doneraile.
    May ev’ry chosen ill prevail
    O’er all the imps of Doneraile.
    May not one prayer or wish avail
    To sooth the woes of Doneraile.
    May the Inquisition straight impale
    The rapparees of Doneraile.
    May curse of Sodom now prevail
    And sink to ashes Doneraile.
    May Charon’s Boat triumphant sail
    Completely manned from Doneraile.
    Oh! may my couplets never fail
    To find new curse for Doneraile.
    And may grim Pluto’s inner jail
    Forever groan with Doneraile.

    RIGHTEOUS ANGER by James Stephens

    The lanky hank of a she over there
    Nearly killed me for asking the loan of a glass of beer:
    May the devil grip the whey-faced slut by the hair,
    And beat bad manners out of her skin for a year.

    That parboiled imp, with the hardest jaw you will see
    On virtue’s path, and a voice that would rasp the dead,
    Came roaring and raging the minute she looked on me,
    And threw me out of the house on the back of my head!

    If I asked her master, he’d give me a cask a day;
    But she, with the beer at hand, not a gill would arrange!
    May she marry a ghost and bear him a kitten, and may
    The High King of Glory permit her to get the mange.

    THE CURSE OF NOT BEING IRISH by mister O’muse

    And so we can see, Donald T.,
    What the problem may well be:
    In your entire immigrant ancestry,
    Of Irish blood, you’re entirely free.

    But on St. Patrick’s Day, luckily,
    Every man is an Irishman, glory be!
    So depart for today from your family tree,
    Uproot this curse, branch out, and be free!

    From ass act to class act, verily
    This very day, you can transformed be….
    Therefore, by virtue of the Irish in me,
    I dub thee, please God, President Donald O’T.

     

     
    • The Whitechapel Whelk 12:40 am on March 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Happy St Pat’s! May you be in Heaven before The Devil finds out you’re dead.

      Liked by 3 people

    • pendantry 4:54 am on March 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      I have no verse for you, but I do have a riddle:
      What’s the difference between a stoat and a weasel?

      (One’s weaselly recognised, the other is stoatally different). Ha Ha.

      Liked by 3 people

    • Garfield Hug 5:46 am on March 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      🍀🍀🍀Happy St Pat’s DayđŸ»đŸ€đŸ€đŸ€đŸ˜„

      Liked by 2 people

    • GP Cox 8:11 am on March 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Liked by 1 person

    • Carmen 8:24 am on March 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      From one person with the Irish in ‘er to another – Happy St. Paddy’s Day! (oh, and the ditty for the Donald O.T is a good ‘un)

      Liked by 1 person

    • Lisa R. Palmer 8:33 am on March 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Lol!! Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

      May the green you wear
      reflect the green you bear
      as good fortune follows you ev’rywhere!

      Liked by 1 person

    • mistermuse 11:28 am on March 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      I WANT TO THANK ALL WHO COMMENTED. FOR NOW, I’M UNABLE TO REPLY INDIVIDUALLY DUE TO COMPUTER ISSUES, SO PLEASE EXCUSE THIS COLLECTIVE RESPONSE, WHICH IS BEING SENT ON MY DAUGHTER’S COMPUTER. SORRY I CAN’T DO MORE UNTIL THE PROBLEM IS FIXED, BUT IT SEEMS I’M THE VICTIM OF AN IRISH CURSE! WHY ME, LORD (INSTEAD OF THAT INFIDEL, THE DONALD)?

      Like

      • Carmen 12:41 pm on March 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Would mister muse be muted ?? 😉

        Liked by 1 person

        • mistermuse 3:26 pm on March 17, 2018 Permalink

          Carmen, I’m no longer muted — for some mysterious reason, I am suddenly able to log in again, after not being able to do so since yesterday afternoon (I had pre-written the post before the problem, but had to use my daughter’s computer to publish it). They say time heals all things, but this is the first time I heard of time fixing a computer problem. I’m thinking St. Patrick must have interceded with the computer gods on my behalf. 🙂

          Like

        • Carmen 4:10 pm on March 17, 2018 Permalink

          This same thing happened to another blogger friend of mine just the other day — it’s WordPress gremlins, I believe! Glad St. Patrick interceded. . . 🙂

          Liked by 1 person

    • Don Frankel 3:39 pm on March 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Muse, today everyone in New York City is Irish and wearin’ the green. So here’s my toast to you.

      “May your glass ever be, full. May the roof over your head ever, be strong.
      And may we both be in heaven for a half an hour before the Devil knows we’re dead.”

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 11:21 pm on April 8, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Sorry for the delayed reply, Don. Somehow I overlooked your comment — I must have had a few too many glasses of Stout at the time.

        Like

    • arekhill1 3:58 pm on March 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Will the Savoir Fairy join the leprechaun and the banshee as Irish legends, Sr. Muse? I sincerely hope so.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 5:31 pm on March 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Only on St. Patrick’s Day, Ricardo. I’d hate to think of the French losing their Savoir Fairy all the other days of the year.

        Like

    • Positively Alyssa 10:20 pm on March 17, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Happy St. Patrick’s Day!! I hope you have a great evening! I wanted to thank you for liking my post about Forgiveness! I appreciate you reading and I hope you will like more of my posts! I look forward to reading more of yours and hope the rest of your weekend is wonderful!

      Liked by 1 person

    • markscheel1 4:22 pm on March 18, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Muse,

      I thought I knew poetry, but I’d never run across these! LOL I’ll have to share with my Irish journalist friend, A. J. Nevertheless, I don’t think they’d work for our current POTUS! Wouldn’t fit on a tweet.
      BTW–a friend recommended and lent me a video of the classic ballet film The Red Shoes. Really enjoyed it and thought of you and your love of “the oldies.” Bet you could write something great on that, if you haven’t already! 😉

      Mark

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 9:40 pm on March 18, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Mark, the only way you could’ve come across the last poem was if you had read my puckish Irish mind, as I just wrote it the day before I published this post. BTW, your Irish journalist friend will no doubt recognize the name of the first poem’s author, John Millington Synge, of PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD fame.

        I’ll have to pass on The Red Shoes, as I’m not into ballet, though I understand it’s a great film.

        Like

    • The Coastal Crone 2:15 pm on March 20, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Thank you for choosing to follow my humble blog! I have enjoyed exploring yours and reading your poem’s for St. Patrick’s Day. Now I know what Donald T’s problem is!

      Liked by 1 person

    • mistermuse 5:17 pm on March 20, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      My pleasure, Jo Nell. As for Donald T’s problem, I have to admit it goes far beyond not being Irish, but just for St. Patrick’s Day, I put me Irish blinders on and let it go at that.

      Liked by 1 person

    • RMW 6:30 pm on March 21, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Ah, a rhyming president.
      If only he was resident!

      That’s all I have…

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 9:18 am on March 22, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        RMW, if you mean resident someplace other than the White House, I am not hesitant — I mean ‘hesident’ — to agree.

        Like

    • Silver Screenings 1:55 pm on March 24, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Whoa! Some pretty grim stuff here, especially the tirade against Doneraile. I’d sure hate to be a resident of that town…!

      Liked by 1 person

    • kutukamus 7:20 am on March 31, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Much enjoyed about this very Mr. T
      Wreaking havoc on everybody 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

    • barkinginthedark 1:38 am on October 29, 2019 Permalink | Reply

      Alas, no Irish, Drumpf is German
      And begorrah, also vermin

      continue…

      Liked by 1 person

  • mistermuse 12:00 am on March 12, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , poetry, readers, ,   

    A READER WANTS TO KNOW…. 

    THE ART OF THE REAL

    “Would you explain your writing to me?”
    “Certainly — I write what I see.”

    “So, what you see is what you say?”
    “In my mind, I see it that way.”

    “But things aren’t always what they seem.”
    “In that case, I write what I dream.”

    “Pray, how to tell the two apart?”
    “Some might say, therein’s the art.”

    “Then, that’s the art — to part the two?”
    “No, that’s the part that’s up to you.”

    “Up to me? But you’re the writer!”
    “Truth be told, aren’t you the decider?”

     

     
    • Lisa R. Palmer 7:08 am on March 12, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Brilliant!! Absolutely brilliant! Love this… 😀

      Liked by 2 people

      • mistermuse 8:30 am on March 12, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Thank you for that “dream” comment, Lisa. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

        • Lisa R. Palmer 11:04 pm on March 12, 2018 Permalink

          It’s absolutely true, and real, offered in daylight by a conscious, enthusiastic fan… (who also happens to believe that dreams are often real as well – lol!)

          Liked by 1 person

        • mistermuse 12:03 am on March 13, 2018 Permalink

          Much appreciated, Lisa….and to show that “dream” comment was meant as a compliment, here’s a little ditty for the dreamer in us:

          Like

    • scifihammy 7:41 am on March 12, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Clever – and entertaining 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

    • arekhill1 10:18 am on March 12, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Nice set of rhymed couplets you have there, Sr. Muse.

      Liked by 2 people

      • mistermuse 11:33 am on March 12, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        That’s “The Art of the Real,” Ricardo. Eat your heart out, Donald (“The Art of the Deal”) Trump.

        Like

    • thelonelyauthorblog 11:11 am on March 12, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      This is brilliant. Bravo.

      Liked by 1 person

    • Don Frankel 5:16 pm on March 12, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Muse earlier this year I had a thought in a similar vein and that happened when I realized I didn’t know anything. It was quite a moment because I’d been walking around for six decades and I didn’t know anything. I only thought i did.

      Liked by 2 people

    • mistermuse 9:21 pm on March 12, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Don, count yourself fortunate to have been walking around for only six decades and not knowing anything — I’ve been walking around for over seven with the same disability. But at least we know what we don’t know….which is more than can be said of a certain President of the United States.

      Like

    • Don Frankel 6:11 am on March 13, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Muse full disclosure here as someone from my old neighborhood told me that a young Donald Trump used to come into Karl’s Lunchoenette where I worked as a teenager and that I used to make him milkshakes, vanilla by the way. I would have disclosed this before but I just didn’t remember.

      Also pointed out to me is that we played baseball against him. I thought he grew up about a mile from our neighborhood but it seems it was a lot closer than that more like a half a mile or even less. But that all makes Donald Trump my friend. That’s the way things worked in Queens back in the 1960’s, Sorry to disappoint.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 8:38 am on March 13, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        No problem, Don. I simply can’t abide the way Trump treats people and believes “it’s all about him” — but I guess friendship trumps everything (pardon the pun)….although the way you define (for want of a better word) friendship seems to me a bit of a stretch, considering that it’s strictly a one-way street. I always thought of friendship as a reciprocal relationship.

        Don, I like to think of you as a friend, so I hope you don’t mind my telling you how I see it. I certainly appreciate your telling me how you see it.

        Like

    • Don Frankel 11:51 am on March 13, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Muse, when you make someone a Milkshake, they leave you a tip, especially the rich kids from Jamaica Estates so it was reciprocal. But I don’t only have friends who agree with me. That’s boring. My late wife and I agreed on practically nothing but we didn’t have angry arguments we just disagreed and had fun doing it.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 1:55 pm on March 13, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Don, since I wasn’t a rich kid, I probably wouldn’t have left a tip if I bought a milkshake from you, so I hate to think that could’ve cost us a friendship. But I mostly agree with the rest of your comment, especially when it comes to politics. Too bad Trump doesn’t see it that way — at least, I assume he doesn’t, or he wouldn’t mock those who disagree with him.

        Like

    • moorezart 3:09 pm on March 21, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Reblogged this on From 1 Blogger 2 Another.

      Liked by 2 people

  • mistermuse 3:49 pm on January 2, 2018 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , poetry,   

    WINTERDREAM 

    A homeless man in his 50s was found frozen to death the morning after Christmas at a downtown bus stop in the city I call home….though it might have been any city on earth where cold weather reigns this time of year.  Local homeless advocates said he was known to them: a drug addict who recently relapsed after staying clean for several months.

    The homeless here have no ‘home’ in which to stay (homeless shelters are open only overnight, not all day), but each one has a name, a face, and (no doubt at some point in his or her life) a dream. The frozen man’s name was Ken Martin. His face was invisible. His dream? Perhaps it was something along the lines of this poem I wrote years ago:

    WINTERDREAM

    Suppose a homeless man came upon
    what survived of a tattered old jacket,
    abandoned, like himself,
    to the elements….
    and in that tattered garment,
    crumpled up inside a pocket,
    a winning lottery ticket
    might transform his existence.

    But first, that paper future must be
    found, and then, having been found,
    not tossed like litter to the gutter,
    unopened and unexamined.
    Let us further suppose
    the deadline to claim its prize
    was coming at midnight
    of that very day.

    That night, in winter’s turn,
    the man had a dream
    that he could live his life
    all over again,
    knowing in his lost youth
    what he knew now
    so that all the choices
    and hidden chances
    of wasted turning points
    again lay open before him.

    But the thought made him cringe
    — regret was a fire
    that gave pain without heat.
    He awoke in cold sweat
    to the taste of snow
    on the cracks of his lips,
    pulling tight the collar
    of today’s good fortune.
    What luck to have found
    a buffer against fate.

     

     

     

     
    • Carmen 4:50 pm on January 2, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      A person has to really wonder about their chances not taken, eh? We’ve just been adversely affected by a death of a homeless relative. He had been living on the streets for five years, with no apparent direction to his life or want to do anything constructive, it seemed. Only 25 years old and had many opportunities but didn’t act on them.
      So terribly sad.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 5:15 pm on January 2, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Sad indeed, Carmen. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your homeless relative.

        Like

    • Lavinia Ross 7:28 pm on January 2, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      I am sorry for the loss of this man’s life, and all his missed opportunities, hopes and dreams. May he rest in peace.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 7:45 pm on January 2, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Freezing to death on the street of a downtown city should never happen in a civilized country. Thanks for your comment.

        Liked by 2 people

    • arekhill1 8:34 pm on January 2, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Nicely penned, Sr. Muse.

      Liked by 1 person

    • mistermuse 11:34 pm on January 2, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Thanks, Ricardo. I thought the poem was pretty good when I wrote it years ago, but now I think perhaps I overdid the pathos and should stick to humor. Decisions, decisions….

      Like

    • D. Wallace Peach 11:37 pm on January 2, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Beautiful poem and so moving. All those what if’s and the fear and pain and regrets and choices and lack of choices. There is no reason for anyone to be so alone and left out in the cold in this country.

      Liked by 1 person

    • Garfield Hug 12:39 am on January 3, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Really sad! Nice share and I do empathize with the homeless.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 9:26 am on January 3, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Thanks. I’m sure you would never leave Garfield out in the cold (and vice versa). 🙂

        Like

        • Garfield Hug 9:30 am on January 3, 2018 Permalink

          Lol! No way…when the aircon is too cold for me, Garfield gets to wear a jumper suit too😊

          Liked by 1 person

        • Carmen 9:55 am on January 3, 2018 Permalink

          Which reminds me, mistermuse – I hope you’re bringing your brass monkeys in on cold nights! 😉

          Liked by 1 person

    • mistermuse 11:44 am on January 3, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Carmen, I’ll thank you to leave my brass monkeys out of this. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

    • Don Frankel 2:21 pm on January 4, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Right now we are under the maelstrom of a Bomb Cyclone. In this extreme weather they send out the police to pick up the homeless. The rest of the time… nothing. What’s the difference?

      Liked by 1 person

    • mistermuse 6:53 pm on January 4, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Beats the heck out of me, Don. Cities somehow usually manage to come up with the money for their pet projects. Too bad the homeless aren’t pets — they’d probably have a better chance of being taken care of.

      Like

    • Don Frankel 7:00 pm on January 4, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Muse I think you’re onto something. if I remember this correctly I think it was Noel Coward who speaking about the Holocaust said it if were six million dogs no one would have stood for it.

      Liked by 1 person

    • moorezart 10:43 am on January 5, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Reblogged this on From 1 Blogger 2 Another.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 4:45 pm on January 5, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Thank you once again, moorezart. May all your winterdreams be happy ones.

        Like

        • moorezart 9:02 pm on January 5, 2018 Permalink

          This very same thing recently happened in Portland Oregon. Fresh on my mind. Your poem was powerful. And… you’re welcome!

          Liked by 1 person

    • Cheryl Wright 4:02 pm on January 23, 2018 Permalink | Reply

      Stories like this really sadden me. People take so much for granted and often look down on those who are homeless. We never know what life has in store for us and many of us may be a few bad circumstances away from being homeless as well. Great poem!

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 4:42 pm on January 23, 2018 Permalink | Reply

        Thank you, Cheryl. Your comment reminds me of the old phrase “There but for the grace of God go I.” However, many persons in positions of power and/or wealth apparently lack the empathy to picture themselves in the other guy’s shoes (assuming the other guy has shoes).

        Like

    • mentalnotes1 12:11 am on January 31, 2019 Permalink | Reply

      — regret was a fire
      that gave pain without heat.

      Liked by 1 person

  • mistermuse 12:02 am on May 30, 2017 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , , , , , , Narcissus, poetry, ,   

    RHYMES AT RANDOM 

    In a comment to my last post (CERF’S UP), I raised the possibility of re-publishing several of my poetic baubles from THE RANDOM HOUSE TREASURY OF LIGHT VERSE. Generous soul that I am, suppose I add a bonus of bangles and beads to the baubles….for man does not live by words alone, but with the inspiration of Blyth spirit beautifully begetting beguiling music, without which our Kismet (fate) would be drab indeed:

    Yes, my friends, I have rhymes — or, conversely, should I say….

    And now, having strung my lead-in out this far / I wish upon a wishing star / to make appear my Random rhymes / from the pages of bygone times. / These rhymes abode in poems four / nothing less and nothing more / but not having used up all my string / I’ll save one of the poems for my next post-ing:

    LOVER BOY

    Narcissus was too perfect for sex or pelf —
    He longed only to gaze in love at himself….
    The moral of which is that, even in myths,
    Too much reflection may be your nemesis.

    THE BOOK OF WISDOM

    Thou shalt not commit adultery;
    Nor shalt thou covet thy neighbor’s spouse.
    Shouldst thou succumbeth to temptation,
    Thou shalt not do it in thy neighbor’s house.

    CONCEIVABLY, THE COMPLEAT HISTORY OF HUMAN SEX

    Adam and Eve,
    I believe,
    Were the start of it.

    Everyone since,
    I’m convinced,
    Played a part in it.

    NOTE: Ann Blyth, who played Marsinah (daughter of The Poet, played by Howard Keel) in the film version of Kismet, is one of the last surviving stars of Hollywood’s Golden Age.

     

     

     
    • calmkate 1:14 am on May 30, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      nice poetry, thanks 🙂
      the shortest poem I know
      FLEAS
      Adam had ’em

      Liked by 1 person

    • mistermuse 7:02 am on May 30, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Adam must have been quite the dog
      For fleas to go for him whole hog.
      😩

      Like

    • linnetmoss 7:16 am on May 30, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Haha! I had to look up “pelf” to see if it meant what I thought 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 8:01 am on May 30, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        I came across the word many years ago, but I don’t remember where — probably in something written by someone like Noel Coward. For the benefit of those who don’t know Coward, he was a sophisticated English playwright and composer, and “pelf” means money or riches.

        Liked by 2 people

    • Ricardo 2:08 am on May 31, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Was trying to figure out which of my childhood cartoon characters was fond of saying “Gadzooks,” so I Googled it and came upon its etymology instead: “Dictionary references date gadzooks as far back as the late 1600s as a shortening of “by God’s hooks,” a reference to the nails on Christ’s cross.”

      Suffering succotash, as Sylvester the cat, one of my ‘gadzooks’ suspects, was also prone to saying.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 11:42 am on May 31, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        I seen to recall a long-ago cartoon character saying “Gadzooks” too, Ricardo, but I had no better luck than you with a quick Google search. If any bounders or blighters out there remember who it was, please speak up or forever hold your Gadzooks.

        Like

    • RMW 2:54 pm on May 31, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Now I have to dust off my Kismet DVD from the back of the cabinet and pop it in my machine. I’ve been revisiting my musicals collection recently… that one will be next.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 4:49 pm on May 31, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        I selected the two KISMET songs for this post based on how well they suited my purposes. I think the best songs in the show (or at least the ones I like best) are NOT SINCE NINEVEH, NIGHT OF MY NIGHTS, and THE OLIVE TREE. The only one that became a big hit was STRANGER IN PARADISE.

        Enjoy your DVD!

        Like

        • RMW 12:28 pm on June 7, 2017 Permalink

          Night of my Nights.. as sung by Richard Kiley, not the Damone movie version!

          Liked by 1 person

        • mistermuse 5:12 pm on June 7, 2017 Permalink

          You apparently have the original Broadway cast (including Kiley) on your DVD — I have the same on an LP album. Both Kiley and Damone sing the song well, but Kiley was also a distinguished actor, whereas Damone was strictly a pop singer whose acting left something to be desired, in my opinion.

          Liked by 1 person

    • intrepid8 11:21 pm on June 1, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      You like Poetry. Have you ever read Pablo Neruda’s by any chance?

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 7:10 am on June 2, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        I have come across a poem or two of Neruda’s, but have not specifically sought his work out because my talent and tastes lead me in the direction of humorous and light verse, such as that of Edward Lear, Ogden Nash, Lewis Carroll and, of course, that “greatest of all humorists, Anonymous.” That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate serious poetry if it’s right down my alley, but my alley is relatively confined.

        Thank you for your comment.

        Like

    • Don Frankel 2:19 pm on June 3, 2017 Permalink | Reply

      Muse I was thinking this music is really beautiful. Like some wonderful fate, like kismet. Then I realized it is Kismet.

      Liked by 1 person

      • mistermuse 2:46 pm on June 3, 2017 Permalink | Reply

        Kismet has a storied history, Don. It was first produced on stage in New York in 1911 and on film in 1930 and again in 1942 starring Ronald Colman and Marlene Dietrich. The 1950s Broadway and Hollywood versions (starring Alfred Drake and Howard Keel, respectively) contain one of my all-time favorite musical scores.

        Like

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