Fair and Moldy Muse I was born to it--this poet's plague Shall I tell you from whence this... This spirited-less disease comes, or Do you seek only to know whence it goes, yes, And so knowing, know when to run or Where to climb to catch it as it rises Weighted-less into the air. It would not do, er...to make a finer point of it It absolutely will not do that you, A finely silken soul hellbound for paradise Should seek refuge in the arms of, well, Such a muse as this one. It is a fairy tale I swear! There are simply no muse-makers Aborning these days; Instead they of the old ages Linger like moldering spores in old poets Whose peckers are dead, Wearing their wiry hair in buns and flops And cardboard box-under-bridges. Here's a spark about as live as I've got And it goes like this: okay, You get a job and work really, really hard, see? (try to stay away from the pool halls, please) Then buy a book cleverly called, oh, Something to the order of "How To Write A Book And Make A Million!" And try, really try, to believe... Yes, read! 'Tis the writer's true solace-- Reading and thinking and thinking and reading Which brings up another thing sure to a-muse you-- Imagining! As noted by one way-gone wiry pecker, Is more powerful than knowledge; and hey, Don't forget to sweat...you know, Ninety-nine percent, the price for genius! Randy Guess ©2001 [How Could I Ask For More?] [When Leaves Fall]    [About The Poet]    [Short-Timer] [A Sweeter Dragon Flame]     [The Devil and the Fourth of July] [Wrestling Hemingway]     [Wiggleworm] [A Silent Paean]    [Rainbow Color Reality] [Hear The Mountains Calling] [Fair and Moldy Muse]     [Ode to a Scottish Lass] [A Matter of Time]    [Understanding Anne Sexton] [In Praise of Earth and Sky and Sea] [Home]   [Poetry]   [Short Stories] [Quotes]   [Philosophy]   [Biographies] [Links]   [Copyright]   [Contact]    [Site Index] <top>