Posts Tagged ‘muse’

My Navigator

Posted: September 4, 2018 in Poetry
Tags: , , , ,

MISC PIX 2 069

MY NAVIGATOR
By David Allen

It’s been 30 years
and I have only now realized my love, my wife,
is more than my muse and soulmate.
She is also my navigator.

Like our car rides in the country,
where she sits next to me,
her hands holding tight to the fear post
as I sometimes stray too far to the curb,
or forget to stop at a light,
she settles in as I maneuver
the twists and turns of our life.

She endures the plot twists
and miscues, giving directions
that help me to somehow
stay on course for the future we both
deserve – as many more loving years
together as we wish.

She helps set the course,
proving love does exist for those
whose chosen path is
endless love.

MY MUSE COOK

Posted: December 24, 2016 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , ,

muse-cook-1

MY MUSE COOK
By David Allen
 
She reads cookbooks
Like Romance novels,
Dog-earing pages
For future kitchen trysts.
She whips up wonders,
Finessing the recipes,
Adding her signature touch,
Transforming deserts
Like Black Forest Trifle
Into “Oohies” that words
Cannot describe.
She holds kitchen court
With our grandkids,
Crushing Oreo cookies,
Sifting, pouring, stirring.
Flour covered faces and hands
Announce another magic cheesecake
Has been born.

CHRISTMAS TREE

Posted: December 8, 2016 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , ,

re-and-tree

CHRISTMAS TREE
By David Allen

Twenty seven Christmases have passed, I know
And all of them had me warm and aglow
With love for the woman who became my wife
My muse, my soulmate, “sticky booggers” for life
(Okay, we spent one apart when I was far out of reach
Preparing a new home for us on a Guam beach)
The picture above shows how my love
Feeling sad for our fallen Christmas tree
Stretched out on the floor in sympathy
It’s the kind of thing she does, you see
And that’s just one of her traits that captured me

DSCF0072-001

WHEN I SEE YOU
By David Allen

When I See You
my heart soars high,
I can float, I can fly,
I can do the things
I’ve always dreamed.

For, you’re my inspiration,
you’re my muse,
you are all the lovers I have known.
You’re my inspiration,
you’re my muse,
you are the flower of the wild seeds I’ve sown 

I saw you first
in a teenager’s dream.
You quenched my thirst
on a desert drive.
You were with me
when I was all alone,
you helped me see
when I was blind.
And when I wrote of love
I was writing just for you,
‘though I had no idea
we would ever ever be.
And when I wrote of pain,
I was crying just for you
and the missing love I thought
would never be.

Now that I’ve found you,
I wonder what you are.
Are you my soulmate
or just a passing star?
Are we meant forever?
Or is it just for now?
I swear, I’d seek the answer,
but I don’t know how. 

So, I stay content with us
as two souls intertwined,
alive within this space
with room for just our hearts.

And if it means foralways
I accept it with a smile,
and put out of mind the time
when we will have to part. 

For, you’re my inspiration,
you’re my muse,
you are the reward for all
the times I almost went insane.
Your’e my inspiration
you’re my muse,
you are the test I finally aced
when the cards were down
and I had to end the game.

You’re my inspiration,
you’re my muse,
you are all the lovers that I’ve known,
you are the flower of the wild seeds I’ve sown.
 

My second book of poetry, “(more)’ is now available on Amazon Kindle. The paperback edition is also available. If you want a signed copy, email me at david@davidallen.nu. Order your copy today! I am like most poets — poor.

(more) Cover

http://www.amazon.com/more-David-Allen-ebook/dp/B00N6W3DP8/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=undefined&sr=1-2&keywords=%28more%29+by+David+Allen

Here’s a review:

5.0 out of 5 stars Wanting (more), September 2, 2014
By Jenny A. Kalahar “the_story_shop” (Elwood, IN USA)
Here are wonderful, literate poems of longing, wit, wisdom and resistance; justice, injustice, the absurdities of life and of growing older. There are lines full of sensuality at every stage of our existence, and of the waste and usefulness around us. Tinged with the atmosphere of the Orient, they are as luxurious as legs that go all the way up. Mr. Allen’s years as a newspaper man stain his poems with a rougher ink that sticks to your fingers long after you’ve turned his pages. There are losses – parents, loved ones, friends – but there are poems of finding and creating. Children, grandchildren, lovers, partners in crime and art all swirl throughout this collection, humming like a secret humming song. But unlike most hummed songs, these words do matter. They do. So read them now and sing along.

RUTH ELLEN (27 YEARS)

Posted: August 16, 2015 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

DSCF0072-001

 Me and my Muse, Okinawa 2005 (or so)

RUTH ELLEN (27 YEARS)
By David Allen
 

Ruth Ellen, I’m tellin’
You don’t look your age
Your beauty’s compelling
And worth every page
Of the dozens of poems
I wrote of you and our love
 

You remain my muse
As you were before we met
I just didn’t know back then
If I would ever get
To be with the woman
Who haunted my dreams
Faceless, she beckoned
Her outstretched arms seemed
To invite the poet in.

 In the traditional wedding vow
The couple agrees to remain together
“In sickness and health”
Well, we’ve lived that line
And we’re coming out fine
We’ve remain unbeaten, if weathered.

 

Chesterfield, IN
16 Aug, 2015

 

images (17)

WHERE ARE THE POEMS
by David Allen

Where are the poems?
I looked in all the familiar
Places and failed to find
A line that I could use.
I wanted to ask my muse,
For a shot of inspiration,
But she slept the sleep
Of the jet lagged
And I feared waking her
Would result in words too tart.
I looked in the bathroom
And behind the bar
But found no Bukowski hidden there.
The fridge offered no Ferlinghetti.
So I went out back, but Jack
Must’ve been somewhere on the road
No words, no poems.
No Ginsberg in my ginseng tea
No Billy Collins cropped
Up in my cup
And Cummings apparently
Must’ve come and went
Before my feet hit the
Bedroom floor
An unpoetic day, I thought
That’s what this is
And so, I left for work
Where the news is my muse.
The words always come easy there,
Like the snippets I write when a trial drags
And I readily reach
Into the recess of my
Addled mind and find
The thoughts to kick start
The poetic engine of my being.

writers-block