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Daughters of Zeus
“Muses work all day long and then at night get
together and dance.”--Edgar Degas.
Sturdy Calliope, twas you
who accompanied me to the mountain top,
and challenged me to compose
my epic existential Western Cinemagenic saga
Blackthorne.
Years have clicked past
and only now does
it approach a conclusion.
Oh, my Clio, your passion
for the past hooked me early on,
and it is firmly anchored
in 73 BC during the Servile Wars,
the Slave Rebellion against Rome
led by Spartacus, a Thracian
much like your self and sisters.
You introduced me to
Howard Fast, Thomas Paine,
and Dalton Trumbo, all who became
brothers and fathers to me.
Euterpe, you flighty lass,
you bathed me in Native American
branch flutes, and Japanese reed flutes,
as I meditate and create. I even
married a flutist.
Melpomene, you dusky wench,
you come to me drenched in incense
during nightmares, hurricanes, soon
after the deaths of family and friends,
and the blink of eclipses of the sun.
Only your jade eyes pierce
the burka of your darkness.
My fetching Erato,
I do adore thee,
in lust and love and heartbreak,
from sonnet to sorrow,
while rosebuds and red panties
fall quietly to the floor,
and there are three locks on the door.
Yes, you tickle me silly Thalia,
making me chuckle, chortle and guffaw,
as my frisky poetics morph
into nonsense, satire, and burlesque,
gripped by a Commedia state of mind,
when the Mechanicals spread their farce,
and Nature herself can take a joke.
Oh, my Terpsichore,
you get my heels tapping
as the bombastic beat of the blues,
jazz and rock jerk my words
into sweet rhythms and meaningful motion,
as my magnificent messages
become inexorable.
You sit alone, dearest Polyhymnia,
detached and secluded, dressed
in shining white like a fairy queen,
whelped by Mother Mary to become
a good Wiccan Witch. You whisper
of way stations, brotherhood and
ascended masters, stripped naked of
all religions, so sacred to me.
Then there is you, Urania, my sexiest companion,
not bound by atmosphere, or edict, or
excommunication, wearing a dazzling crown
of a trillion zillian galaxies, while Branson and Bezos
lick the udder of outer space, while Flash and Buck
and John Carter laugh at the skeptics, while string
theory and quantum physics gyrate in my head
like sugar plum demons, while my spirit readies
itself for the Great Transition, when it will sprint
toward the Light, quoting Shakespeare, and
singing Joni Mitchell lyrics
Glenn Buttkus
Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub
