Category: Poetry

Muse in the Morning


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Froth

Deep down below

past even the words

are ideas and concepts

normally unthought

except by the weird

unkempt minds

of those who dare

to be different

Whipped creaminess

of dangerous notions,

syllables expressed

too rarely

and more seldom heard,

whizzes by faster

than can normally

be sensed

Grabbing on

to a possibility

I was taken downward

further than

imagination

could conceive

There is truth here

There is more

wherever I look

And who wanted

to be normal

anyway

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–December 28, 2007

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

Muse in the Morning

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Obstacles

Friends Along the Way

I started out on this

 road all alone

   Fear and Pain

      my only companions

         I wondered if

           I would lose myself

             The road seemed dark

               and fraught with peril

                 ’til I found I had

                   Friends along the way

                       As the road wound

                         through hard terrain

                           I sometimes doubted

                             my ability to go on

                               But I fought back

                                 the Fear

                                   and worked through

                                     the Pain

                                       with the help of my

                                         Friends along the way

                                           As time passed by

                                         the road ascended

                                     Obstacles less frequent

                                  but harder to pass

                               And at times

                             I needed the

                           places of refuge

                         respite and care

                       offered to me by

                     Friends along the way

                 I’ve come to the crest

               of the mountain

             I’ve climbed

           As I look down below

         I see all of the

       barriers crossed

     the challenges I met

   and the lessons I learned

 I will never forget those

Friends along the way

 What lies over

   the top of the road

     There is no

       way of knowing

         But deep in my heart

           From the depths

             of my soul

               I know that I’ll have

                 The company of my

                   Friends from along the way

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–July, 1994

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Pony Party, ‘An April Day’

An April Day When the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, ‘T is sweet to visit the still wood, where springs The first flower of the plain. I love the season well, When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming-on of storms. From …

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Muse in the Morning

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The Dark Side of Redworld

An Ocean of Blood

A drip of blood

from one perspective

unless its yours

or mine

It falls on the ground

in the highest places

in the villages of Nepal

where blood runs cold

it trickles down

the mountainside

through far Kashmir

into Afghanistan

staining the banks of the streams

that carve the hidden valleys

and splash into the rivers

staining them too with the blood

of guilty and the innocent alike

ever downward through

the desert of Iraq

There are other mountains

in Bosnia and Kosovo

where the blood also spilled

running eastward perhaps

through the valleys of Chechnya

and further on to color red

the desert of Uzbekistan

Blood also spilled in the jungles

of the Congo and Rwanda

and the oil plains of Nigeria

flowing into the rivers

ever onward

’til the rivers ran red

Here too the blood

eventually sank into the deserts

of Eritrea and Darfur

and the bazaars

of the Sudan and Somalia

The desert is stained

with blood

The bloody fist of oppression

squeezes the life

out of the jungle of Myanmar

and the farms of Zimbabwe

The mountains

of Peru and Columbia

add more than their share

The Big Muddy is stained

as it passes by what

used to be the Big Easy

but it’s sure not easy anymore

and the rivers run red with blood

carrying it to the ocean

an ocean of blood

bathing our world

Our home is built

on the blood of others

yet still we add more

or stand by watching it run

Our home is sinking

as the blood-tainted

ocean rises

The blood will consume

us all in the end

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–December 26, 2005

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Muse in the Morning

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Bleeding

Bleeding the Colors

I have bled blood red

Three decades later than

I would have liked,

aided by a surgeon’s knife,

but I have bled blood red.

I’ve bled before,

just not that color.

It’s the shade

I was missing

in my world.

I’ve bled the sickly yellow of fear

and the desolate blue of sadness,

the empty grey of loneliness

and the worn out brown of long years

of waiting.

I’ve bled the bluish purple of pain

and the emerald green of envy,

the dark scarlet of anger

and the all-consuming black

of depression.

I’ve bled the purplegreengold

sparkles in my vision

as I fell asleep

to dream of a life that

I couldn’t live.

I’ve bled the tarnished silverpink

of a love that I thought

was real but was

an illusion/delusion

and abusive and wrong.

I’ve bled the dusky rainbows

of confusion and turmoil

and the toxic hues

of insanity and dis-ease

and death.

I’ve bled the colors

until they ceased existing

and I would have joined them,

but I finally bled

the blood red of life.

I’ve bled red twice now

and the colors are back,

sharp and crisp

and bright and airy

and joyful.

I’ve bled red twice now

and the colors are real,

and they don’t need me

to bleed them,

for I have bled blood red.

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–March, 1995

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Muse in the Morning

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Eggstraction

On the Borderlands

The land

on the border

is fertile

The people

are kind

gentle

content

for the most part

until of course

the patrol comes by

to force everyone

to move to one side

or the other

That causes

great turmoil

on the borderlands

so sometimes

we move

the border

when they aren’t looking

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–March 3, 2006

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

Muse in the Morning

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket
Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

Muse in the Morning

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Solitary

We are Normal: a duet

Would you please

Lend me food?

I am hungry.

We do not know you.

You are alien.

You are not welcome.

We are normal.
Can I please

Share your water?

I am thirsty.
We own the water.

You are strange.

You cannot have any.

We are normal.
Will you then

Share your fire?

I am cold.
We need all the warmth.

You are other.

You must go away.

We are normal.
Is it too much to ask,

To be able to live,

To be able to be?
We don’t like your kind.

You are different.

You make us think too much.

We are normal.
But all I want is

To live in peace,

To be happy.
You have no right to be happy.

You offend us.

You hurt us by existing.

We are normal.
I know how to love,

How to care,

How to hurt.
You are not one of us.

You don’t belong.

We want you to die.

We are normal.

–Robyn Elaine Serven

—June, 1994

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

Muse in the Morning

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Landscape of the Mind

The Candy-colored Clown

In my dreams

the eagle transforms

into the dove of peace

every soul is sparked

by precious pieces

of Martin and Coretta

their essence permeates

the landscape

of my mind

fairness prevails

people are kind

nice caring helpful

human warmth flows

toward everyone

through everything

replenishing the fabric

of this mortal coil

There’s always fair weather

where justice reigns

the justice that Martin

saw from the mountain top

Then I awake

let out a gasp

and cry out

in despair

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–February 17, 2006

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Prima Materia

 “All things transitory are meant for us as symbols.”

~~Goethe

I look for you

at the back of the wind

in the red thread of dawn

by the Star of the Sea

but you remain hidden

cached between stars

dust of my dust

the old moon wrapped

in the new moon’s arms.

~~kj

Muse in the Morning

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket
Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

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