Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

Please join us inside to celebrate our various muses…

In 1992 I learned to speak my truths.  They were tentative at first, hardly more than notes about the reality of my life.  Later some of them became poems.  Still later, more poems were added to add the view of hindsight.  I’ve tried to arrange them into a cohesive whole.  Maybe it works.  Maybe it has more meaning this way.

Old poem, more complete than it used to be, but still incomplete…because I am not dead yet.  It was lost for over 9 years.

A Transition through Poetry XXX

Art Link

Inner Light

Personal Evolution

(an unfinished poem about a life not ended)

Brief moments of awareness…

like the immersion

of a skipping shell

in the liquid

of another life.




Coalescence of self…

the protecting shell

loses momentum,

ceases skipping,

and begins to sink.




Birth of identity…

the sinking of the shell

propels up a splash,

a pearl of dew,

which hangs suspended.




Examination of soul…

while gravity stops,

the revealing lens

zooms through the wet,

uncovering layers.




Assertion of gender…

Vibration of ego…

internal bonds break,

the mist that was dew

drifts on the wind,

scattering slowly.




Perusal of purpose…

catching an updraft

the mist attaches

to motes of dust

from other life paths.




Analysis of life…

shifting perspective

the damp dust

provides fertile ground

for germs of wisdom

. . .

dot dot dot

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–January 17, 1997

I know you have talent.  What sometimes is forgotten is that being practical is a talent.  I have a paucity for that sort of talent in many situations, though it turns out that I’m a pretty darn good cook.  🙂  

Let your talent bloom.  You can share it here.  Encourage others to let it bloom inside them as well.

Won’t you share your words or art, your sounds or visions, your thoughts scientific or philosophic, the comedy or tragedy of your days, the stories of doing and making?  And be excellent to one another!


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    • Edger on November 30, 2007 at 13:03

    Very often  when I read a news story or someones comment about a news event, I immediately think of a song from the past, usually from the sixties and seventies. My brain just seems to do it automatically.

    But it almost never happens when I read a poem or hear another song.

    I thought it was because the song, like a poem does, describes almost perfectly the general that the events in news stories are a specific instance of.

    But I think there is something more to it…. I just don’t know what.

    • Robyn on November 30, 2007 at 14:48

    …between Bleeding the Colors and this.  There is another “poem” from this time, named Migration, which is really a list of chapters in the story of my life, as viewed from 1998.  That poem became the backbone of my second performance piece, I am a Human Being, which was what I was working on when I joined the blogworld in 2005.

    • lezlie on November 30, 2007 at 19:17

    in today’s artwork… cool!

    Or is it the drugs?

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