The Poet Taster

Why does Homer's Muse disdain me?
Why won't nymphs touch my flute?
When heroes sail the wine-dark sea
why stay at my desk and salute?

When will I know love from lust?
Why is it both cause a stomachache?
Why are lies all that I trust?
Why is drool all that I make?

My muse is a mouse in a cage
who refuses to obey my command,
and when I touch the cold chaste page
it slaps the dry pen from my hand.

Wicked muse, eat your stale cheese,
blow your foul breath on another fake -
allow my feeble tongue to unfreeze
because I've forms to fill, calls to make,
and I'm near the end of my coffee break.

Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief

3 Comments

  1. Liz H says:

    Aw, better to take a swift walk outdoors. Sometimes the Muse wants the break we need, ourselves. πŸ™‚

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Priti says:

    Beautifully written! 😊my muse refuses to obey my commands πŸ’•πŸŽ‰thanks πŸŽ‰πŸ˜Š

    Liked by 1 person

  3. JosieHolford says:

    Ah! The great imponderables of human history.

    Liked by 1 person

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