Today’s High Tea with Kalliope
Warrior-Poet waited, restless.
His Muse was late.
Old Earl Grey was sweet. The Biscuit? Tasteless.
No choice, but wait.
Warrior-Poet arose, beaming.
She had arrived.
Like Sun’s dawn, Kalliope’s greeting.
“At last, Courage and Art,” She whispered.
“Quests bring peace and love, hearts contented.”
The Poet cried.
Kalliope bade this man’s stillness.
His courage steeled.
She offered a Quest, most dangerous.
His snare unreeled.
“I must decline,” he calmly explained.
The Muse, silent.
Warrior-Poet’s quest had begun.
“Kalliope, you see, I’ve embarked.”
She sipped her tea.
“Have you not guessed my intent, so stark?”
Puzzling was he.
“You see these truths, yet I will explain.”
Her eyes, wary.
“Kalliope, Muse, I’ve you to gain.”
She? His quarry?
She laughed at this Mortal, Her smile broad.
The Poet grinned.
“Man and Muse could never be,” She said.
Excuse most thin.
“All quests can be won, once they’ve begun.”
The Muse agreed.
“Never ignore the trap once it’s sprung.”
“What trap?” she said.
“Today’s High Tea with Kalliope.”
The Confused Muse Refused
The Muse? Amused. She mused,
A Gift? Trap. To be fought?
“Perhaps, a passing thing?”
Sister Muses did chide,
“Oh! What gifts did He bring?”
Creamed Tea, Biscuits, Surprise.
Loving barbs, Sisters used,
At Home, Mount Olympus,
The Confused Muse refused,
Outright surrender, thus.
This? An End to the Search?
Amazement. These things!
The Dancers’ call, She heard.
The Pieces of Me, You Adored Them?
Warrior-Poet cried and warred,
He crashed his sword against scrivener’s board,
The signs had been clear: Persevere,
Yet, Her pained words He heard, quite crystal clear.
Far away, Kalliope wept.
Reciprocated, warmness slowly crept,
Beneath to hide.
Days, flittering moments to a Muse,
Kalliope’s heart ached from this misuse,
Warrior-Poet’s Heart issued demands,
He longed to hold Her alabaster hands,
His best, he tried.
Kalliope flashed before Him,
“Friends? The pieces of Me, you adored them!”
Her Wrath and Pride.
Pale, Warrior-Poet took a knee,
“That is still Truth, My dear Kalliope.”
Sword, set aside.
“Do you not wish to hold my Heart?”
Implored the Muse, “Truth, I beg, impart!”
Sun washed Warrior-Poets grim face,
“I Swear upon the Dancers’ spin through Grace.”
He softly cried.
Clarity struck Kalliope, profound,
“You do wish my Heart? You whisper, it pounds.”
His tears, she dried.
Dead Poets Stirring
Let’s Cook, Dance, Explore and Spin,
and Learn and Love and Chase the Sky again.
We’ll descend from the Clouds above,
and Burn the Volcanoes with this Love.
Dead Poets will stir and write anew,
Songs and Hymns of Profound Truths,
that lie in Far Gone, Distant places,
Eyes’ light reflects upon our Faces,
to Forge a surprising Constellation,
unknown among Elders’ Divinations.
Dance Again, We Rise
“Do not put me on a Pedestal,”
She said, Gentle and Soft.
“Those great heights inspire fear of My Fall,”
Said She, Proud chin aloft.
“If forced to peer down at You below,
the Songs you sang, I’d never know.”
“You don’t seem to understand, My Love.”
Chided I, grinning wide.
“You lifted me to the same Blue Skies.”
Knowing I, Her surprise.
“We are both on this Pedestal, High,
Even floor, Dance again, We Rise.”
Their Dance began.
I Stole the Night and Ship
I sailed by Her starry eyes,
Ever mindful of Her fragile prize,
Elders whispered of Lost Things,
and called me a Foolish Man.
They sat in their mud holes,
Green rot, withered Souls,
“You cannot understand!”
I yelled at them.
So, I stole the Night and Ship,
I peeled away their fetid grip,
and fled into Familiar Unknown,
with Misted Idiot’s Grin.
© CGT, 2017.