This poem is about the muse striking when she sees fit, or knot. The pandemic was quiet a dry spell for my poetry, partly because my time and creative energies where engaged in my public health radio show. Still, I had dozens and dozens and dozens of unpublished poems. Of course, a few weeks ago, as I committed to putting them out there on a daily basis, the muse has struck over and over again, writing dozens more poems, insisting that my storehouses remain overflowing. She is the boss of me. May this be my biggest problem…
The Muse
The muse
Departed
As easy as she peers
Now and only now
Knot feeling write
As a dry river bed
Wading for a flash
Flood
In a moment notice
In awe do time
The mystery
To which I a scribe
