Monday, July 3, 2017

Muses of the Wee Hours

Muses of the wee hours,
ghosts of the immortal dead, ghosts of the great,
Dylan of Laugharne, Estlin of Patchin Place,
Marianne the Presbyterian Confucius,
Wystan of old York, of New York and Kirchstetten,
Theodore of Saginaw, Emily of Amherst, Wallace of Hartford,
Hart Crane whose lyre was the cabled Bridge,
Mr Longfellow of Harvard Square,
Walt of Camden and Mannahatta,
Will of Stratford, Dante of Florence,
Catullus of barbed epigram and tender elegy,
angel-muses who inspire the living,
Mary of Provincetown, Ted of Nebraska,
Donald of Wilmot and Danbury,
wittiest Wendy across the pond,
muses of the Bee Hive Table here at home,
muses of the New England Poetry Club,
muses who give dear Elena her luminous genius,
muses of the kitchen and the nightlight,
muses of Folgers Instant nuked in the microwave,
muses of the Sylvania AC
blasting drafts of cool into the bedroom,
muses of the venetian blinds that Uncle Dan put in,
muses of the notebook where I scrawl and jot
with noggin propped on the pillow,
muses of the 1369, muses of the Kickstand,
muses of San Benedetto sparkling water,
muses of pentameter, muses of anaphora,
muses of the medial inversion,
muses of my mischievous vernacular,
muses of the Arlington Farmers Market,
muses of the bike path, muses of Webcowet Road
and its Little Free Library,
muses of the early morning walk,
muses of exercise, muses of contemplation,
muses against the heated shout of talk shows,
muses aloof from TV and its noises,
muses disdaining the vulgar in high places,
muses of ardor, muses of love, amusing muses,
muses of the alternating solstices,
muses of the changing face of earth,
muses whose words bethrong my shelves
in metric tons of un-Kindled text,
boon companions, drinking buddies,
saints and sages, sinners and fools,
be with me as I try to shape
the sounds that rattle about
my less-than-quiet mind.

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