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This poetry challenge comes from poet Roy E. Peterson: Provide a poem about your inspiring Muse. If you name a Muse, put it in a poet’s note at the bottom of your poem. If it is someone living, you need not reveal their name. For those who do not claim a Muse inspires them, you may write on mythical, historical, spiritual, or religious Muses who have inspired others. Post yours in the comments section below.

Here is my example:

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My Lady of Light

by Roy E. Peterson

I kneel down before my Lady of Light.
Her accolades shower my shoulders with praise.
No more in the dark woods shall wander this Knight.
The touch of her sword my honor repays.
A true heart by heaven has never been blessed
By just such an angel to love and adore.
The rose that I gave, to her bosom she pressed;
Fealty forever to her I have sworn.
My mission is, as a Knight-errant, to love,
Protect, and defend my Lady of Light,
To fight in the duels she would be proud of.
With sword strokes of justice, great evil I’ll smite.
Till Elysian Plains are brought into my view,
I’ll always be Champion, Knight-errant of you.

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Poet’s Note: My Muse is married to another person and lives in Dallas, Texas. We were close at our university. We have shared our secret love. I have an entire poetry book, “My Lady of Light Awaits Her Knight,” dedicated to her from which this poem was taken.

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Post yours in the comments section below.

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69 Responses

  1. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    My Moon Mouse Muse

    My Muse is a sonorous moon mouse.
    She’s canny and quirky and twee.
    She ousted a languishing loon-louse
    To scoot through my brainwaves with glee.

    She nudges and nuzzles and nibbles
    My shoddiest rhymes into shape
    With fervor she filched from two Sibyls,
    An imp, and a chimp in a cape.

    She burrows through bluster to beauty.
    She blesses papyrus with odes.
    Her paws are oft sore – it’s her duty
    To hurtle down less-traveled roads.

    She snags sassy similes soaring
    Sky high with a lyrical lilt.
    All metaphors verging on boring,
    She boldens and buffs to the hilt.

    My pink-whiskered, purple-furred feeder
    Of lexical fodder for thought
    Springs forth when she knows new words need her
    To weave them as laureates ought.

    I pray my Muse stays ever blazing
    To burst with verse dappled with sun
    In magical, page-turning phrasing…
    I pray the cat won’t get her tongue.

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      What an entertaining fantastic poem about what must be the most unusual Muse in history! This is a great beginning to the challenge and an amazing tribute with your usual unassailable alliteration and imaginative imagery.

      Reply
    • Edward C. Hayes PhD Hayes

      Pretty durn good.
      Edward Hayes
      As yet unpublished. No real muse. Not amusing.

      Reply
  2. Arthur Goikhman

    Dear Calliope
    Calliope, my dear old friend,
    I write you in despair
    The numerous works that I have penned
    Are hardly standard fare
    No, I have grandeur, I have style
    My works are epic, pure
    And yet denial after denial
    Have rendered me obscure

    I hardly seek bestseller fame
    Or Hollywood awards
    But they reject, with notes of “lame”
    They use not pens, but swords
    These hurt my feelings but I keep
    Inscribing what I feel
    I persevere and do not weep
    I know my stuff is real

    Calliope, you know my plight
    So help me with my craft
    I’m striving only to delight
    So I include my draft
    And in a SASE envelope
    No postage, free of charge
    So mark it up and give me hope
    I wish to be writ large

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Arthur, your words resound with sincerity and a perfect plea that we all have experienced of rejection. This is a great poem that demonstrates your deft poetic skills that certainly are immense. Bringing Calliope into the present by sending a metaphorical letter is enchanting and winsome.

      Reply
  3. Mark Stellinga

    No… I Will Not Loan You My Muse!

    You’re gazing through your windows though not seeing what is there – and often cursing barren sheets of paper, terrified –
    Worried how depleted you’re reserve of ‘subjects’ is – afraid your muse has either lost her touch or – even died!

    It’s seemingly more difficult to conjure up a purpose adequately meaningful to justify the ‘cause’,
    And… struggling far too frequently to find the proper words… you wonder if the reason why is more than just a pause!

    Mine has never left my side for more than 60 years, helping me to prune the truths I’m trying to convey,
    And each collaboration has produced a piece of verse that says precisely what it was we meant for it to say!

    That, for me, is proof enough that penning without muses does leave poets stranded far more often than does not –
    But loaning you the one I have – even for a second – isn’t gonna happen — she’s the only one I’ve got!

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Mark, I am overwhelmed by such a great poem in tribute to your Muse who has inspired you for so long and your insistence that you will never even consider loaning your Muse. There is both levity and sincerity in your poem that you have conveyed to us. I love how you phrased the collaboration and the conclusion.

      Reply
  4. Mark Stellinga

    Coincidentally, I just penned this ‘Musie’ one yesterday, Roy – pardon my excess punctuation, I rely on it to help me better read my works at recitals. 🙂
    Cool challenge –

    This Is Our Final Poem!

    My Muse has all but ruined my life! That ornery little shithead far too often woke me with some random word or phrase
    At anywhere from 2 a.m. to 4 or 5 – abruptly – and, like a fool I’d stagger to my office – in a daze –

    Grab a piece of paper and record her damn suggestion – knowing I’d forget it if I’d opt to disobey –
    Then stumble back to lie awake, aware her ‘interruption’ would guarantee a – had-a-bad-night’s-sleep-ish sorta day.

    Fortunately those after-midnight now-n-then ‘disturbances’ have fostered, for the most part, what are good to super poems
    Which — off-n-on for 60 years have helped me fill the pages of a couple dozen – for the most part – briskly selling tomes!

    Nevertheless, at 95, I badly need my sleep, so… despite a Muse — a genuine Muse — is said to never age —
    This piece here’s the last one we’re submitting as – a ‘Team’, and represents, for her an’ I, our last book’s final page!

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Mark, what a fantastic continuation of your exotic poem that resonates with me though not with the negative thoughts which are turned on their head by your appreciation for the Muse having invaded your sleep. In my book, “Lady of Light,” are many poems inspired by my Muse after midnight. In fact, I provided a list in an appendix of 13 dreams I had of my Muse. Since I knew my Muse personally, I also have an appendix containing all the things she liked from food to golden oldies.

      Reply
  5. Carey Jobe

    The Desktop Muse

    The dealer droned on despite my frown,
    then I noticed her, hunched and gravel, kept
    on a cluttered shop floor long unswept,
    Greek beauty callously marked down.

    Suffering divinity looked on me then.
    Her iced eyes thawed to sparkling when
    I cleansed her brow with religious care
    and placed her to reign on my desktop. There

    her sunlit face shines coldly bright,
    a Mona Lisa in sculpted white,
    but under a cloud-crossed moon by night
    she dances in waves of milky light,

    lunar passions her morning features hide.
    Yet the smile dawning over my midnight phrase!
    As if love for a mind still trapped inside
    devolves like grace on one who prays.

    (Poet’s Note: Muse’s name withheld by request.)

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Carey, what a beautiful breathtaking find and tribute for the physical presence of your Muse on your desktop. How you found your “suffering divinity” and then restored her beauty is a great story and fascinated me in part because I have a desktop goddess in bronze as part of a desk set with inkwells.

      Reply
  6. Paul Freeman

    While I’m contemplating:

    A muse is just like writers’ block,
    Existence of such is a crock.
    No cat, dog or beau
    Can make the words flow –
    Your main inspiration’s the clock.

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      I had to laugh at your initial contemplation; however, from my first poem as an example, I have been inspired and encouraged by one I regard as having the qualities of a Muse. I noted your second contribution and will respond to it, as well.

      Reply
  7. Paul Freeman

    And less cynically:

    My muse is the Sun and the Moon,
    A beautiful song or a tune.
    And oh, what a feast,
    Each plant and each beast,
    And mountain and sea Earth hath hewn.

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Paul, the sun and moon can indeed inspire us to write poetry not only about them, but also about other fantasies such as nature, love, romance, and the list goes on. I appreciate your points of view and contributions.

      Reply
  8. fred schueler

    Here’s a song about the best-beloved doing her work – a series of watercolours of living individuals of all Canadian herpetofauna (the verse about myself supposedly working as hard as she does was inserted by her): REGINA SEPTEMVITTATA (10 Sept. 1986. Bishops Mills & Cartier, Ontario;  This is the story of the painting of Regina septemvittata, the Queen Snake, for Francis Cook’s ‘Amphibians & Reptiles of Canada,’ just after we returned from the transCanada Fragile Inheritance trip, on which our daughter Jennifer was conceived & born; based on Stan Rogers The Field Behind the Plow. The Mimp was our daughter Elsa, killed by a car in 1985, and the Simple Native was our brother Paul, also road-killed in 1977.

    Watch the snake behind the brush stand up on the page
    You can almost see it crawl, but you’ve got to do it all.
    Pencil scales and paint the eye, but your tea is cold
    And the CBC is playing rock and roll.

    And it figures that the child wants to get up now,
    She can sleep for hours while you are busy on the phone,
    But perhaps she’ll settle down, every keel’s a gain,
    And there’s victory in every row of scales.

    And so Frederick walks the floor,
    His frogs and bones and writing left alone,
    Gave it up to put her down,
    Read to you all afternoon.
    But it’s not the book he’d read if he could choose,
    It’s nothing he can use,
    As he works as hard as you.

    Poke your model in the side, No, he can’t stay there,
    He has got to turn around, show that little patch of brown,
    You can just paint what you see, but you wish he’d feed
    And you wonder how those rows fold as he turns.

    Half an hour, at the news, you’ll be stiff and cold
    Get the baby up to nurse, put some supper on the stove,
    And watch the snake behind the brush stand up on the page,
    Bind another species’ spirit to your own.

    If the Mimp were still alive
    She might be reading C.S. Lewis now,
    Get you up to exercise, microwave some Ovaltine.
    And the Simple Native might
    Be drawing Grasses in the Amazon.
    You’ve lost so much you love, or they’re California-bound.

    For the good times come and go, but at least you’re home
    So this won’t be left half done as you head on down the road,
    So watch the snake behind the brush stand up on the page,
    Bind another species’ spirit to your own.

    Watch the snake behind the brush stand up on the page,
    Bind another species’ spirit to your own.

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Fred, so sad to read of your personal losses, but a precious tribute to the artistic talents of Regina and to her as your unspoken, but intimated Muse. Thank you for sharing.

      Reply
  9. Joseph S. Salemi

    There’s only one job for your Muse —
    She rouses you out of a snooze,
    Makes you get off your ass,
    Pump your brain full of gas,
    And write stuff that’s bound to amuse.

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Dr. Salemi, what a funny take on the job of a Muse. Sometimes mental images of my Muse inspired me to write on a broad range of topics including humor. You are so right about when Muses seem to appear or at least are remembered. I usually have mental images and dreams of my Muse from my university days with exact colors of dresses, blouses, and skirts she wore. I plan to add much more on Muses later.

      Reply
  10. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Dr. Salemi and James Sale: Since both of you are scholars of poetry and of Dante, here is a poem I wrote about Dante’s Muse.

    DANTE’S MUSE WAS BEATRICE.
    By Roy E. Peterson

    Poets pursue a passion
    they find hard to conceal.
    Their idealistic lover
    whom they idolize with zeal.
    One who sets their heart on fire;
    one whom they yearn for;
    One whom they profess
    will be their lover evermore.

    Take the case of Dante,
    who fell in love with Beatrice.
    Though they only met twice,
    he dreamed of lover’s bliss.
    The first time they met,
    he was nine and she was eight.
    As young adults, they met again,
    through a quirk of fate.

    Both of them were walking
    on a Florence Street.
    When she turned and greeted him,
    she swept him off his feet.
    They never got together
    for love’s conjugation
    The emerald-eyed beauty though,
    became his inspiration.

    Tragically Beatrice died
    at the age of twenty-four.
    He never saw the object
    of his affection anymore.
    Dante wrote about her
    in his poetry you will find.
    After all, she became
    “the glorious lady of my mind.”

    “She is my beatitude,
    the destroyer of all vice
    And the queen of virtue,
    salvation,” though met twice.
    Now you know how Muses
    play upon imagination.
    They become the fountainhead
    We call inspiration.

    Reply
  11. Mike Bryant

    When you’ve paid all your poetry dues,
    It’s important to follow your muse.
    Be careful of diction
    Remember, it’s fiction
    Or you just might end up in the News!

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      I love your inventive and humorous poem, Mike. This is a perfect contribution.

      Reply
  12. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    “No poems can please for long or live
    that are written by water-drinkers.” ~ Horace

    MY MERRY MUSE

    My over-sober water jug must go.
    A buzzy flute of fizz will take its place –
    I’m told rhapsodic rhyme will only flow
    When fair Calliope is off her face.
    I’m on a tipsy trip through daffodils.
    I’m jocund as a jester on the gin
    Who juggles urns and smuggles nightingales
    To bardic heights of hyperbolic spin.
    The ghost of Dylan totters through the mist,
    A splash of frisky sloshing from his grail.
    His milk-wood mojo leaves my vellum kissed
    With inky glory ready to set sail
    On seas of balladry to sing then soar
    Beyond the hail of hiccups from the shore.

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Dear Susan, your first one was so much fun, but I love so much your great Sonnet with the ghost of Dylan, the balladeer, one who’s lyrics and music are magic. I can imagine you writing while listening to his music and I take your “hail of hiccups from the shore” as a self-deprecating inference that further endears your poem and makes its own magic.

      Reply
    • Paul Erlandson

      I really love this one, Susan. You are a tremendous wordsmith! I tend to settle for “good enough”, but you always find the optimum word for any situation!

      Reply
  13. Gigi Ryan

    Let Me Tell You about Her

    She opens up my eyes to see beyond
    The suffering that’s present here on earth.
    She lets me hear Creation’s song of mirth,
    And feel the mercies fresh that come at dawn.
    I’ve walked the road of hopelessness alone;
    I’ve failed in ways I never thought I could.
    But then my muse appeared; I understood.
    Her light upon my path in beauty shone.
    She’s taught me much of goodness, truth, and love,
    By her gentle hands I’m often fed
    Amazing feasts of honey, wine and bread.
    She reminds me, “Keep your sights above.”
    And though I’ve yet to meet her face to face,
    She is my sister, Father’s daughter, Grace.

    Reply
  14. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Gigi, what an intriguing sonnet that begs the question of how she does all this for you while never having met Grace face to face. I presume, though, you have been able to be in contact with her by modern communication methods to include social media. From your beautiful thoughts of her, she seems to be a copy of you.

    Reply
  15. Gigi Ryan

    There I go again, being too vague.
    My earth born sister is an amazing person, but my muse, Grace, is the grace of God – a creation of His, as am I, thus my sister, in a sense.

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Bless you for the clarification. I can understand your adoption of the “Grace” of God as a Muse-like entity. In any event, from your wonderful poetry, you have all the attributes of Grace/grace.

      Reply
  16. Maria Panayi

    For the Society Of Classical Poets

    Although my muse is one,
    She is made of many parts
    That are scattered far and wide
    And yet she is always by my side.
    I am enticed with delectable fare
    That inspire me to type and to thrive
    And take excellence too in my stride.
    Alas, this wonderful muse always strives
    But I let her down again and again
    But bless her , she never gives up,
    For her mission is carved in her heart,
    Poetry and beauty in life are a must.

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Maria, that seems like you have found a wonderful Muse, since “she never gives up,” or did your Muse find you? Your poem gives rise to so many possibilities, especially with the “delectable fare,” which makes me think of some food product(s). Thank you for your contribution and your heartfelt expression, “Poetry and beauty in life are a must.”

      Reply
      • Maria Panayi

        I was thinking of the SCP when I wrote it.
        The challenges always inspire me as well as reading the wonderful poems published{delectable fare}. It is a great site for learning about classical poetry and much more.
        What better muse {one, but made of many parts} does one need?! Thank you for the challenge and your evident love and support of SCP.

  17. Paul Freeman

    I think the muse deserted me on the last line:

    She rattles your brain, dusts it off,
    She makes you perk up with hee cough.
    You’re soon feeling swell,
    And drink from her well
    Like pigs with their snouts in a trough.

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Your Muse must have deserted you by the last line on this one. Your Muse would never approve of the “pigs” simile. I will have to add a poem or two about the desertion of a Muse.

      Reply
  18. Roy Eugene Peterson

    WHEN MY MUSE WON’T APPEAR
    By Roy E. Peterson

    Indigo skies. Cobalt curtains come down.
    Hail and tornadoes are scarring the ground;
    Electric lightning sends daggers of dearth;
    Thunder to silence the meek of the earth.

    Batten the hatches; close up the cellars.
    Mimic ancestors; ancient cave dwellers.
    Wind shaking trees in a frenzied display.
    Rain falling like bullets, won’t go away.

    That’s how I feel when my Muse won’t appear;
    Trembling insatiably. Doom must be near.
    Faith, hope, and love are drowned in the flash flood.
    Something is slowing the flow of my blood.

    Heaven is lost. I have no where to turn
    Until the face of my Muse I discern.
    Then glorious rhapsodies I will sing.
    When the storm passes, I have everything.

    Reply
    • Paul Freeman

      I’ve sometimes noticed a similar phenomenon with reading poetry. I’ll read through a poem on the site, not be impressed, but later realise I as reading in entirely the wrong mood. Later, on a second reading, I discover an absolute gem .

      Reply
  19. Roy Eugene Peterson

    GREEK MUSES MUST HAVE DISAPPEARED.
    By Roy E. Peterson (July 20, 2024)

    The nine Muses have been called, “The Daughters of Wit and Charm,”
    Born of Zeus and Mnemosyne to cause none any harm.
    After all of the Greek poets that I consider great,
    The Muses must have turned their heads and left them to their fate.

    Each Muse represented their distinct literary bent–
    For history, dance and music and poetry were sent.
    When they were called upon, then to the writers they appeared.
    But after anno domino, they must have disappeared.

    Of all the early Greek poets before year 1 AD,
    Homer was the greatest with his Muse goddesses in play.
    There were dozens more who would often call upon their Muse.
    In the modern era they Greek Muses fell into disuse.

    In the Middle Ages, pretty women, poets would choose
    For their inspiration and they would call them their own Muse.
    Beatrice was Dante’s Muse who would mingle in his mind
    Since the childhood age of nine who had left Dante behind.

    In the modern era, Muses will still inspire men.
    They think of them as goddesses just as they did back then.
    When I am feeling lonely as I try to think and write,
    I turn to my special Muse I call, “My Lady of Light.”

    Poet Note
    The last of the great Greek poets is listed as Quintas Smyrmaeous
    in the fourth century. He wrote an epic poem, “Posthomerica.”

    Reply
  20. Roy Eugene Peterson

    MY MUSE HAS RETURNED TO ME
    By Roy E. Peterson

    My Muse returned again to me after three long years;
    After trials and tribulations, my doubts, and my fears.
    Ailments happened to her that affected how I write.
    My Muse has returned to me. She’s my Lady of Light.

    I finished up a book of poems that was haunting me.
    My Muse helped me write again composing poetry.
    In one week I wrote sixty poems. Oh, what ecstasy.
    I pray she will stay with me. She is my destiny.

    Reply
  21. Roy Eugene Peterson

    MUSES ARE SO HARD TO COME BY
    By Roy E. Peterson

    Poets, and singers, and artists need Muses
    To write, and to sing, and to paint.
    A perfect ideal who whispers to them
    Like a penitent talks to a saint.

    I feel like a sculptor when writing a poem,
    An image I have in my head.
    The rest of the poem is still an unknown
    I don’t know what lies ahead.

    I think of my Muse who waits silently
    For me to summon her image.
    Then my fingers fly as I write and I write.
    What I write I will read at the finish.

    Muses are so hard to come by these days,
    Who inspire what poets will do,
    A model who lives in our innermost soul.
    Thank heaven that I found you.

    Reply
    • Paul Erlandson

      “MUSES ARE SO HARD TO COME BY” is certainly one of my favorites in this excellent thread! The first stanza along just blows me away!

      Reply
      • Roy Eugene Peterson

        Bless you, Paul, for your wonderful comment!

  22. Roy Eugene Peterson

    I thought I might give a brief look at the Greek Muses and those of some famous poets.

    Greek Muse Origins:

    The Society of Classical Poets Survey revealed 44.1% of respondents said they relied on a Muse at least some of the time, whether that Muse was a living or dead one, spiritual or religious, a fantasy, and/or mythological figure.

    The three original Greek Muses were: 1.) Melete: the Muse of study and practice. 2.) Mneme: the Muse of remembrance and memory. 3.) Aoide: the Muse of song.

    The ancient Greek poet, Hesiod, expanded the three original Muses to nine: Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia, and Urania.

    Famous Poets and Their Muses:

    1. Edgar Allan Poe’s wife, Virginia Clemm, was also his Muse.
    2. William Shakespeare and his Dark Lady.
    3. John Keats fiancée, Fanny Brawne, although the relationship was tumultuous and he also included nature.
    4. W.B. Yeats had a complex relationship with his Muse, Maud Gonne. Maud was an Irish revolutionary, feminist, and actress.
    5. Dante Alighieri’s Muse was Beatrice di Folco Portinari (Met her as a young boy and saw her once in their twenties.).
    6. Percy Bysshe Shelley and Mary Wollstonecraft (He left his first wife for her).
    7. Lord Byron’s poem, “She Walks in Beauty” was inspired by Mrs. Anne Beatrix Wilmot, his Muse and wife of his first cousin. He also wrote “Farewell to the Muse.”
    8. Robert Burns took Coila (Coilus) as a stated Muse from Coilus or Coel Hen, who was a King of the Picts. In his poem, ‘The Vision” the reference to Coilus is: “Coila my name; and this district as mine I claim.”
    9. Oscar Wilde’s Muse was Sarah Bernhardt, the most acclaimed actress of her day, and an exceptionally accomplished sculptor who exhibited in Paris, London, New York, Philadelphia, and Chicago.
    10. Some writers who mentioned Greek Muses collectively or individually: Homer, Virgil, Petrarch, Edmund Spenser, John Milton, William Wordsworth, W.H. Auden, Sylvia Plath.

    Reply
  23. Paul Erlandson

    I have written two Muse poems to date, both for the same Muse. Here is the first:

    My Muse Can Beat Up Your Muse

    My muse can beat up yours – don’t even try her.
    She’s armed with wit and sense and holy fire.
    Unparalleled in her alacrity,
    She will not sanction mediocrity.
    Her frightening aesthetic probity
    Eschews the common for the rarity.
    At home with pen or brush, with harp or lyre,
    Her beauty doth continually inspire.

    Your muse, I’m sad to say, is often slow.
    She’s tardy to arrive, but quick to go.
    Your muse plants only barren things and plain
    Within the convolutions of your brain.
    While my muse grants me victory again,
    You cannot yet complete your first quatrain.
    Your paper fallow, not a word will grow.
    Your pen will never reap if she won’t sow.

    But let us pass from talking of her ways,
    And turn again my worthy muse to praise.
    In speed and grace she never fails to please,
    Likewise in balancing asymmetries.
    To discipline and form she holds the keys.
    Yet wild she is, untamed as any breeze.
    I will not fail to heed her piercing gaze,
    Nor fail to thank God for her all my days.

    © 2010, Paul Erlandson

    (This was written for one of my art models.)

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Paul, you had my attention with the title, and the poem was magnificent. What a great tribute to a Muse! I identified in particular with the closing line, “Nor fail to thank God for her all my days.” That is how I feel about my Muse.

      Reply
  24. Paul Erlandson

    That first poem was “How it started …” The second one is “How it’s going …”

    My Muse Has Left Me Desolate

    “… and it was ordained by angels in the hand of a mediator.” – Galatians 3:19

    My Muse has left me desolate this year.
    October, not a single word from her.
    My brush will hold no paint, my pen won’t stir,
    And I sit trapped in uninspired fear.

    Some friend will murmur to me (as a curse):
    “No guide but Christ, and no Muse but the Church!”
    But God through intermediaries works,
    And all who say such things write rotten verse.

    When God passed down His holy Law it came
    Ordained by angels and through Moses’ hands.
    Return, my Muse! Release me from these bands,
    And mediate God’s poems to me the same.

    Come home, my holy angel, heed my call.
    Return to me, thou “Moses” of my verse.
    All other Muses make my writing worse.
    I need your kindly succor, lest I fall.

    Perhaps some other poet has you now,
    And some more agile painter hears your voice.
    Abandon them! Come, make my heart rejoice:
    Renew with me our old, truehearted vow.

    And then shall heart, hand, pen feel no restraint.
    Once more I’ll gladly follow; you shall lead.
    The finger-graven tablets you shall read,
    And I shall sing and write and dance and paint.

    © 2013. Paul Erlandson

    (Written for the same Muse as the first of my two poems.)

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      The intensity and love for your Muse is enchanting and entrancing. Both poems are great tributes that speak to the heart. Paul, such wonderful poetry and sincere blessings for those of us who are privileged to read them.

      Reply
  25. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Earlier, I provided some of the Muses of poets. This continues that story with some Muses of other literary figures.

    Famous Literary Muses:

    1. Charles Dodgson (aka Lewis Carroll) was inspired to write his classic, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, by a real 10-year-old, Alice Pleasance Liddell.
    2. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’ Muse was Charlotte von Stein, a German writer. He wrote a poem directly to her, “To Charlotte von Stein.”
    3. James Joyce and Nora Barnacle Nora crossed paths with James Joyce on Nassau Street in Dublin. Joyce was smitten by her copper haired beauty and they arranged to meet again on the 16th of June, now known as Bloomsday to devotees of the author’s magnus opus, Ulysses. (She masturbated him under a bridge on their first date.) They eloped from Dublin and went to Trieste. (Reference: “Irish Stew Podcast.)
    4. Charles Dickens with Ellen Lawless Ternan. “In the 1850s Dickens had become increasingly dissatisfied with his wife, Catherine. Catherine had borne ten children and had grown quite stout and lethargic….. Dickens met the Ternans, Maria, Fanny, Ellen, and their widowed mother, Frances, during rehearsals for Wilkie Collins’ play The Frozen Deep in August 1857….. The forty-five-year-old Dickens became enamored with the youngest of the sisters, eighteen-year-old Ellen, called Nelly. Soon rumors of Dickens’ indiscretions were rampant and he battled them by severing friendships and business relationships with anyone who didn’t see things his way. (Source: The Charles Dicken Page, “The Mystery of Ellen Ternan.”)
    5. Jane Austen and Tom Lefroy. Thomas Langlois Lefroy was an MP for Dublin University, Privy Councillor of Ireland and Lord Chief Justice of Ireland. In 1796, Lefroy began a flirtation with Jane Austen, friend of an older female relative. Some have suggested it may have been Lefroy “whom Austen had in mind when she invented the character of Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice, as the courtship between Tom Lefroy and Jane Austen took place over the year or so that Pride and Prejudice was written.” (Source: “Thomas Langlois Lefroy.” Wikipedia.)

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  26. Roy Eugene Peterson

    MY MERCIFUL MUSE
    By Roy E. Peterson

    My merciful Muse of poetry
    Gave golden gifts to me.
    As I wished for words of romance,
    My Muse put me in a trance.

    How could I such great words refuse?
    I put the words of love to use.
    Her vivid words my poems infuse.
    I am grateful for my midnight Muse.

    Reply
  27. Roy Eugene Peterson

    POETS AND THEIR MUSES
    By Roy E. Peterson (January 13, 2022)

    Poets and their Muses have become legendary.
    I studied Greek Muses in a myth commentary.
    Calliope was the Muse of epic poetry.
    Eros was as erotic as a goddess can be.

    Muses are a figment of our imagination,
    But they are the central core of our cogitation.
    Without my mystic Muse my words would be moribund.
    My verses would be aimless and likely would be shunned.

    I have been fixated on a Muse that comes to me
    To share my darkest hours and inspire poetry.
    She is a girl I once knew. I keep her picture close.
    If I need inspiration, she helps me be verbose.

    I feel her presence and the quickening of my heart.
    She helps me with my rhyme schemes and tells me where to start.
    My Muse often comes to me sometimes when I’m asleep.
    She takes my hand and leads me where dreams of love are deep.

    Poet Note:
    I have recorded some dreams of her.

    Reply
  28. Roy Eugene Peterson

    MY MUSE, MY SOULMATE, MY LOVE
    By Roy E. Peterson (February 10, 2018)

    My hope is for each man and woman
    That someday they’ll find that one
    Who embodies everything in life
    When all is said and done.

    Then far beyond this mortal realm
    In Elysian paradise.
    The combination of their souls
    Will fully crystallize.

    The search may take a lifetime
    Though once when they were young,
    They were near each other,
    But the right song stayed unsung.

    Hardships on a dusty journey
    Finally give us wisdom
    To understand the joys we missed
    In search of some great kingdom.

    A memory keeps haunting us
    That we’ve been thinking of,
    Throughout the world we wandered–
    My Muse, My Soulmate, My Love.

    Reply
  29. Roy Eugene Peterson

    MY MUSE IS WHO?
    By Roy E. Peterson (February 17, 2019)

    I have talked of Muses
    In several poems before.
    Perhaps if you are guessing
    The clues you should ignore.

    It could be a composite
    That I am writing of
    Melding all the thoughts into
    An idyllic kind of love.

    If you seek an answer
    To who became my Muse,
    I will help decipher
    One of my hidden clues.

    It may be in a word or two
    That make a subtle difference.
    Did I use words “is,” or “was,”
    The present or the past tense?

    I don’t mean to be obtuse.
    I don’t mean to be unkind,
    But if you study all of them,
    I think my Muse you’ll find.

    Reply
  30. Roy Eugene Peterson

    A SUDDEN BURST OF INSPIRATION
    By Roy E. Peterson (May 23, 2025)

    A sudden burst of inspiration
    Came out of the blue.
    I felt a Muse had lit a spark
    And I felt fresh anew.

    It seemed as if my golden years
    Finally passed away.
    My mind had been transported
    To a former day.

    The words came pouring out
    In their simplicity
    Whilst lying deep within
    Was sheer simplicity.

    Five poems thus were writ
    To form my legacy.
    So judge them well my friend
    For they are part of me.

    Reply
  31. Roy Eugene Peterson

    My earthly Muse passed away August 12, 2025. She was my angel on earth and now inspires me from heaven. I wrote these last two love sonnets about her.

    MY MUSE MY LOVE
    Love Sonnet #364
    By Roy E. Peterson (August 13, 2025)

    My Muse, My Love from earth has departed.
    She left for heaven. I’m brokenhearted.
    During this week she became heaven bound.
    Her spirit will be gone, not in the ground.

    We had a love that lasted through the years.
    I’m devastated in this “vale of tears.”
    Never have I ever felt such a grief.
    Nothing here on earth can bring me relief.

    The one I dream of each cold lonely night
    Has left this world; an angel taking flight.
    My one prayer is I’ll get to heaven too.
    Then we’ll be together and love renew.

    I know she’ll be waiting by heaven’s gate.
    Our love’s foreshadowed as our eternal fate.

    MY MUSE INSPIRED ME
    Love Sonnet #365
    By Roy E. Peterson (August 14, 2025)

    While I wrote sonnets of admiration,
    My Muse gave me daily inspiration.
    Some sonnets I wrote with trepidation
    Yet she conferred on me commendation.

    She would send me words of encouragement.
    She was my soulmate and knew what I meant.
    She always could decipher my intent.
    My Muse Mistress I felt was heaven sent.

    Perhaps my last love sonnet to survive
    Comes with number three hundred sixty-five.
    My guiding Muse is no longer alive.
    She passed away and they could not revive.

    My candle burned out leaving only night.
    My Muse passed away, headed toward the light.

    Reply
  32. Paul A. Freeman

    Fickleness of the Muse Limerick

    A muse is an inconstant thing,
    sometimes in your lughole she’ll sing.
    Inspiring ideas
    kill writer’s block fears –
    just pray she’s not having a fling.

    Reply
    • Roy Eugene Peterson

      Funny limerick, Paul, but I suspect that is how many feel about their Muse.

      Reply
  33. SK Robbins

    My dark lady lovely lies
    upon our wedding bed.
    Cherry red silk and satins white,
    An angel, seems I’ve wed.
    But of her virtues, I adore
    her piety much more.
    A faithful wife who can repay?
    Till that last day has come
    I’ll sing her praises, satisfied
    Always in her love.

    Reply
  34. Roy Eugene Peterson

    What a beautiful heartfelt addition to the Muse challenge that you can actually share with your wife. You have been blessed and blessed us with your Muse response.

    Reply
    • SK Robbins

      Thank you Roy. Heartfelt is a one of the platitudes I use to describe things that have little merit, but I’ll assume you are a better person than I. 🙂 In all seriousness, I am so glad to have recently found the SCP.

      Reply
  35. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Two final tributes to my Muse who died August 12, 2025, and I now think of as my Angel Muse in heaven.

    YOU HAVE ALWAYS DAZZLED ME
    By Roy E. Peterson

    I am certain up in heaven
    There will be no jealousy.
    Though angels who have lived up there
    May wish that they were me.

    Your radiant beauty reflecting
    Like an azure crystal sea
    Will be the next star up in heaven
    Shining endlessly.

    Your radiance and your beauty
    That have always dazzled me
    I pray are mine to have and hold
    Throughout eternity.

    WHEN ALL MY DAYS HAVE FADED
    By Roy E. Peterson

    When all my days have faded,
    When evening sun is gone,
    I have one star to guide me;
    There’s one I gaze upon.

    Past the moon’s reflection,
    Past this mortal place,
    There is a star in heaven
    Way out there in space.

    Though her light may seem faint,
    There’s a twinkle in her eye.
    When I long to see her,
    I stare up at the sky.

    Reply
    • Paul Freeman

      So glad your muse is still with you, Roy, and chivvying you along with your creative endeavours.

      Your challenge got me thinking. Many of those who I loved and who have passed, inspire me from afar, urging me to find the right words, to express the right phrases and to put across better-expressed ideas and emotions than might be possible if they weren’t still with me.

      May the Almighty bless you both.

      Reply
      • Roy Eugene Peterson

        Bless you, Paul, and thank you for your kind words. Being inspired by someone else in our lives, as you expressed, means we are sensitive to others and feel it in our hearts. I have great respect for that as you have shown.

  36. Anthony Watts

    She

    ‘s his perpetual blind
    date; seldom turns up; they never
    kiss and, should he ask her name,
    she’ll answer with a curious half-smile.

    Frail vessels he brings, cat’s¬-
    cradles of words to collect her essence in –
    like water in a sieve, she laughs
    and slips away, leaving a sparkling froth.

    She flirts with scientists, philosophers
    (letting the biggest fools believe they’ve won her)
    but he, the poet, is her true
    and only Fool, happy to fail and fail . . .

    not happy, no – but then he has no choice
    in the matter, she being his, and he her, voice.

    Reply
  37. Roy Eugene Peterson

    “Cat’s cradles of words” meshed with “water in a sieve” are great descriptors of such an imaginary Muse “essence.” What a fun concept from her “flirt” to his “no choice,” making me, the reader believe the Muse captured the poet and not the other way around.

    Reply
  38. Roy Eugene Peterson

    I CAPTURED MY CAPTIVATING MUSE
    By Roy E. Peterson (September 1, 2025)

    I believe in my own mind I captured my Muse.
    She was captivating. I put her to good use.
    She would extract me from my wordless stupor noose.
    Then she helped clarify and not be so obtuse.

    I could get into trouble when she turned me loose.
    Although I had captured her, she was like a deuce;
    A card that was wild and she could be quite profuse.
    I respected her and I always shared her views.

    She supported me and then helped me to produce.
    She would coddle me and became my mind masseuse.
    She implored me never to make a poor excuse.
    Just to keep on writing and let readers deduce.

    Reply

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