The Muse E’ Vivatae Dóna el Riu and Her Dragon Poet ~ The Pendleton Street Studio Series

I found my muse
the Lady V
beneath an autumn-kissed
scarlet maple leaf
in the Garden of Muses and Mythical Beasts
under a pregnant moon in conjunction with Jupiter

Lithe of limb
creamy of skin
with lips impossibly beautiful
and hair. . .
how am I to describe her hair. . .
Hair the color of poetry
smelling of every young man’s fantasy

Both our reflections danced across the dark waters
as we walked by the River
She laughed and pointed
and told me all the secrets behind the secrets

She taunted me
Enticing me to dance
Her eyes fiery and bright
and feral
And terrifyingly beautiful

In a twilight
that Vincent would have painted
Under gently swaying trees
filled with that Spanish moss
I asked her
“Will you abandon me
when I’m too old to sing?”
“What a silly question.
You have always been too old.”
“Then why do you bother with me?”
“Look around, where are you?”
“In the Garden . . .”
“As well you should be.
Do you think this is some kind of accident?
You are a part of this place.
Quickly now
put your nonsense away
and write down what you see.
Nothing here is eternal
especially not me.”

Maxwell the Meta-modern Metaphysician also known as the Ticket Taker at the Door of the Studio

To the studio on the second floor the Everon come
Indistinct and all but invisible they come
Multitudes

Some carried in phantom coach and some on foot
Walking across the winds above the World
Traversing the Salient Salty Seas
All coming
Coming to this place
This Museum of Light and Dark

Some stand outside the door holding their tickets
Debating merits and means
Leaving without entering

Others charge in
Treading everything

Then there are the gentle others
Lingering a moment
A day
A week
Finally with timid steps
Holding hands for comfort
Touching each other for strength and support
They pass through this Threshold

Some into the places they want to go
Others into the places they need

the studio

art
sheets of paper
floating in a dark place
(dark to help you focus on the art
not the walls)

art
floating midair
two dimensional plane
sharp edged
black ink in off-white surfaces
symphonies of light and darkness
landscapes of element and contour
presented for you consideration
all of the world falling away
so that nothing is left to see

but the art

The Muse

And so Raven
(my muse)
says
“Get off your fat ass and write something”

No need to get personal

“It’s always personal
You think writing is easy?
The best writing comes from the deep-down place
The dark chambers of the heart
The unreachable pearly whites of human aspiration”

Easy for you to say

“No, son
It isn’t
I have to sit through entire paragraphs of crap
while you work through your issues. . .”

Why do you bother. . .?

“Because on those occasions when you nail it
When you hit the groove perfectly
Your work is pure electricity”

Silence
followed by the sound of tapping on the keyboard

The Incident at the Actor’s Café

She kicks in the door
fishnets with snakeskin boots
Lithe and limber
she glides into the seat across the table
in perfect beat with the music

She says
“Love has two faces”

She signals the server that she’ll have two beers
Says
“One face is the satisfaction of the biological imperatives
(One of my personal favorites)”

Her empty bottle describes gravity’s rainbow
as it arcs perfectly into the recycle bin
She says
“The other is the pummeling of a helpless phone
when the bastard just wont answer”
(OK that one’s gonna leave a mark)

She caps the second one
orders two more
(One for me?)

Tonight her hair is a pale December moon with tips of fire
Tonight she keeps perfect rhythm
She grabs my hand
grabs my attention and says, “Can you feel it?
There are infinite worlds wrapped in the ten dimensions demanded by string theory”

She says
“In another place fish are swimming across the moon
leviathans are sliding across the floor
and you are hopelessly in love me”

She stands
stretches
“All I wants to know is
would such an unrequited love kill the muse for you?”

She hands me a pen from the back pocket of her too tight jeans
Produces a piece of paper for some unfathomable place
Says
“Love must always have two faces
so draw me with your words”

The forth beer follows the third
(Sooner or later the glass has got to break)

She says
“Let your words paint my lips
That I might savor them like chocolate
as you speak them into silken silence”

Says
“Pour the blood of your soul out through your mouth
Let go your heart and learn to fly”

The whole of the World holds it breath
intersecting at the point where her hand touches my hair
“I would that you might paint me
in the pangs and shards of a young man’s love”