The Garden Muse
March 19, 2020 the first day of spring and the first week of nonessential business shut downs. Curfews around the corner and the pandemic growing, the old gardens of 15 years ago stand silent. Maybe, they are a bridge to better times.
Neglected and Overgrown
For years no one notice or cared about the gardens, but a Muse stirs inspiration. A Deity of humble virtues. Fascinates. Time to set priorities and get to work-
My Muse They come in silk moonlight Rising in the high notes Lingering in corridors of poetry Sighing in sweet chords Tribes of ancient color Spanish silver Flamingo guitars Lioness awakens my dry heart Crinoline forest of mystic joy Spanish moon shines like a spell She has come from the sea She brings me the hurt She brings me compassion Love is all the falsely accused Be a man who cares she says Her vision surrounds me Her bracelets of Ulysses Flowers of Ithaca Tendrils grow in red gold Feel the fingers of myth Centuries in her soft touch Rings filled with fate The music burns dusky candles Castles in the crying wind See the broken man Feel the wounded Her breasts are filled with tears She tells me of the poor I am the narrow man of gold I seek her eyes of beauty She says grow like the forest Let your heart see justice, mercy Dancing by windows Revel like new flowing love She moves in shadows of time Wrapped in gossamer stars Hear the sweet piano Feel the beat of fire Cymbals shimmer with life She reads a poem of Pablo Neruda My Muse Joseph Narusiewicz
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