MOI POETRY MUSES

My poetry Muses are real to me.  If you've been reading my blogs for a while, you may recall in prior blogs that I've described the Muses as "fallen angels, smoking cigars and playing poker at the upper left corner of any room I currently inhabit."  They're greedy for my attention.  I can write a gazillion poems -- and I have -- and such is never enough for them.  Greedy muscled angels -- big breasts (though not human boobs so much as a bird's oversize chest for flight) as well as huge steely biceps to operate those huge wings.  Colorless or color-replete eyes, depending on your point of view, in that heated light rather than color emanate from their long-lashed orbs.  I can continue, but you get the point.  They exist and they are not benign -- found the above image in the internet and while it's not quite what I always envisioned with my Muses, it shares with my Muses the sense of a lack of stability even as love exists.  Poetry can't be stable.

So, when I finally shook off the perfumed steel feathers my poetry Muses kept dropping on me and work, instead, on a novel, I wondered how the poetry Muses would react.  

Well, I got my first response this morning.  And I'm relieved.  They're not mad.  Moreover, they will continue to be generous because, while I was sneezing through their feathers, I honored Poetry.  That's my take anyway.  My take on what happened this morning, which is that I wrote a new chapter that was scaffolded by one of my poetry books, 5 SHADES OF GRAY. Another scaffolding was the "I Forgot" structure of one of the two poems in Tom Beckett's new and fabulous release, DIPSTICK/DIPTYCH. Which is all to say, poetry is facilitating my efforts to write MY RUSSIAN NOVEL.  

I'm so relieved.  

Entonces: Onward!