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  • mistermuse 1:18 am on February 8, 2015 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: Feedback, Hello Young Lovers Wherever You Are, human needs, , , poets, starving artists,   

    FEEDBACK CAN 

    be nourishment for

    ….starving artists
    ….struggling writers
    ….unsung poets
    ….creative children

    not unlike young lovers

    wherever you are

    hearing another voice

    speak your language

     

     
    • arekhill1 1:59 pm on February 8, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      Well I try to do my bit, Sr. Muse, you unsung genius you.

      Like

    • mistermuse 3:07 pm on February 8, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      Gracias, Ricardo. All due praise is gratefully accepted.

      Like

    • Don Frankel 3:13 pm on February 9, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      I don’t want feedback. I only want praise.

      Like

      • Joseph Nebus 2:08 am on February 10, 2015 Permalink | Reply

        Well, praise is great, but it’s nothing compared to fabulous prizes, some of them cash.

        Like

    • mistermuse 9:37 pm on February 9, 2015 Permalink | Reply

      If there’s any praise leftover, Don, you’re welcome to it.

      Like

  • mistermuse 5:15 am on October 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: abstract art, abstract expressionism, , minimalism, , poets,   

    THE ART OF ABSTRACT EXPRESSIONISM 

    I’ve been doing a lot of abstract painting lately, extremely abstract.
    No brush, no paint, no canvas. I just think about it.
    –Steven Wright, humorist

    • * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

    Fellow poets and poetasters, what’s Wright for the palette is right for the poem:

     

     

     

    –mistermuse, minimalist

     
    • Don Frankel 7:10 am on October 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      I always say it is extremely important that we abstract. But it doesn’t mean we have to do anything about it.

      Like

    • mistermuse 8:39 am on October 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Nonetheless, I dig your comment, Don.

      Like

    • arekhill1 9:45 am on October 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      I’m drawing a blank. Right here.

      Like

    • mistermuse 12:33 pm on October 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      It’s looking good, Ricardo….in fact, I’d say it compares favorably with mine. We should open a gallery and charge omission.

      Like

  • mistermuse 5:32 am on August 31, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: fable, , , , , oysters, pearls, poets, raindrops, ,   

    CULTURED PEARLS 

    It is time to take time with the poets and listen to the raindrops, time to read again the myth of the Tower of Babel, and to rediscover the lessons of entropy in everyday life.
    –Leonidas Petrakis, research scientist

    It is time to take time
    With poets like me
    And listen to the raindrops
    The clouds have set free

    And read once again
    Of the Tower of Babel
    And rediscover the myth
    Of the gods of fable

    And learn the lessons
    Of whatever that means
    And remember that more
    May be less than it seems

    And so forth and so on
    And just one more thing….
    The world is your oyster
    And I am your King.

     

     
    • Don Frankel 6:13 am on August 31, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      I regret to inform you My Lord, that I don’t eat Oysters.

      Like

    • mistermuse 6:39 am on August 31, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Neither does my wife, Don, but I’m still her Lord and Master (just don’t tell her I said that, as I don’t want to be thrown out into the raindrops that are coming down like crazy this morning).

      Like

    • Michaeline Montezinos 2:24 pm on August 31, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      If the world is your oyster, then where is your Pearl?
      mistermuse, I liked this poem very much. I once had a string of cultured pearls but later gave them and the matching pearl earrings to my daughter. It is her birthstone along with the Alexandrite. I had a ring for her with a stone of this purple color. However, at an away volleyball game she gave it to her coach “to hold on to.”
      Somehow it got “lost. The janitor searched after the game. I waited 45 minutes for a cop to show up. We searched the gym again. I had to go to the tiny Morrow Police Dept and file an insurance claim. I swear that officer was one of two and their office was in the basement of the court building. I liked the hot water heater placed there. The office had great ambience for a farming town.”
      Oh, and you are the King of Poetry…at least for now. 🙂

      Like

    • mistermuse 6:44 pm on August 31, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      According to my poem, the world is your (the reader’s) oyster. I am but your humble King….so humble, it seems, that I am at pearl – I mean peril – of having liberties taken with what I say. But I forgive you – this King business isn’t what it’s cracked up to be anyway.

      Also, I should explain to other readers that Morrow is a small town in Ohio. The reason you have to go to Morrow is because to Morrow never comes (to you).

      Like

    • arekhill1 10:04 am on September 1, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      I enjoyed your proclamation, El Muse Real. Also I think “Lessons of Entropy” would make an excellent name for an alternative rock band with a small but intensely philosophical following.

      Like

    • mistermuse 1:46 pm on September 1, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Gracias, Ricardo. Re the “small but intensely philosophical following,” I thought that’s what I had here.
      I’m not into alternative rock, but maybe I could start a classic jazz band called “Lessons of Entropy.” Or maybe not.

      Like

    • Michaeline Montezinos 9:41 pm on September 3, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      My father in law said I was a philosopher once, Does that count, mistermuse? I like that name for for classic jazz band, “Lessons of Entropy.” I had to look up the word entropy in my dictionary. At least I am building my vacabulary, oh King of poetry.

      Like

    • mistermuse 10:35 pm on September 4, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Of course it counts, Michaeline. If this blog didn’t have philosophical followers, it probably wouldn’t have any at all!

      As for starting a classic jazz band, I’d better stick to my King gig. At my age, I shouldn’t take on more than one job, and as Mel Brooks said, “It’s good to be the King.”

      Like

  • mistermuse 10:50 pm on August 5, 2014 Permalink | Reply
    Tags: , mother hens, , poets   

    SOAR LOSERS 

    Mother Hens can’t help it.
    It’s in their DNA, it’s what they are.
    You may know the breed — she may be a
    relative visiting from the hinterlands, or
    a semi-invited in-law passing through
    on her way to somewhere she’s in no
    particular hurry to get to….yet, to your house,
    she’ll flit here/there like a barnyard chicken,
    approve or disapprove of everything, glance
    askance at something you’re wearing or doing.
    Peck a little, talk a little, cluck, cluck, cluck!

    But you will outlast the guested busybody —
    you’re a poet, and poets can rise high above
    it all, see the big picture. Poets know chickens
    eventually go home to roost. Poets know this
    too will pass away. Come to think of it,
    Mother Hens would probably make passable
    poets….if only they knew how and when to fly.

     
    • Michaeline Montezinos 12:32 am on August 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Liked soar losers a lot, mistermuse. Fortunately, my first mother in law never spent the night; no room in a 2 bedroom flat. But she always hid her little criticisms with a smile and fed me like I was starving when we all visited her home. She was a sweet and sarcastic little biddy hen but I liked her anyway, Unfortunately she passed away last year. Now I find I miss her goodness and the many favors she did for me. My other Mom in law actually was my surrogate Mom after my parents left this valley of tears in 1980. She came into my life 6 months later when my fiance took me and my kiddles to Charlotte, NC. I took care of her husband when he was dying of cancer and later she remarried Arthur. She was happy until he died. Then she became a bit more critical in an underhanded way. Finally, she flew her coop to Assisted Living in Georgia where her second son can visit her every weekend and help her set up computers and fix little stuff. She has an indoor pool, plays bridge and goes to her nearby Temple. As she ages and forgets little things, I find myself being much more kinder to her than she was to me.

      Like

    • mistermuse 7:57 am on August 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      They say it takes all kinds, Michaeline, and the experiences you well relate exemplify that. Compassion for the foibles of others should temper our reactions as much as possible.

      By the way, in case you didn’t catch it, the line “Peck a little, talk a little, cluck, cluck, cluck” in my poem is a play on the words of the song “Pick A Little, Talk A Little” from THE MUSIC MAN.

      Like

    • Don Frankel 8:10 am on August 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Perhaps Ernie K. Doe said it best.

      Like

    • mistermuse 8:18 am on August 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      I love it, Don!

      Like

    • arekhill1 10:43 am on August 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      I only have a child and a girlfriend to keep track of my flaws, Sr. Muse. Fortunately, they do a more than adequate job.

      Like

    • mistermuse 3:13 pm on August 6, 2014 Permalink | Reply

      Better “Fortunately” than “Unfortunately,” I always say (especially if said girlfriend might read it).

      Like

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