My Muse Looks Like Morrissey

For Steve Doolan

*

The mysteries of muses lie within the hands of fate

Your muse may be your lover, or your muse may be your mate

The stranger on the corner, or the friend you used to know

The somebody you’ve never met who makes your juices flow

The one who sang the joyful song that set your heart alight

The one who wrote the rhyme that left you crying in the night

The ways of love and poetry defy all sense and reason

But every rhyme will have its day, and every love its season

The comedies of muses tickle mischief from the pen

Therefore the fates have given me a wonder amongst men

A muse who looks like Morrissey.  It’s true, I kid you not

I only chucked a line or two and this is what I got

Apparently it’s good for when one’s pulling on the lash

Or busking on the corner when one’s rather short of cash

I’m confused, and yet besotted, I am this, and I am that

Anyone but Morrissey.  I just can’t stand the twat

The irony’s amusing, though, I’m moved to write a rhyme

The difference between the two is really quite sublime

One will make you slit your wrists or have a little cry

The other stir your ass upon the dance floor till you die

One drones on and on and makes a proper old palava

The other shows, not tells, a bit more like your Raymond Carver

One is needy, wan, and wafty, like a pampas in the yard

The other, slightly weedy, yes, but dare I say it…hard

Oh, the mysteries of muses are a monster to define

I’ve ended up with one that looks like Morrissey as mine

For a moment, or a season, none may know or yet can say

But I shall take his inspiration, for a year or a day

And his rampant positivity and witty observations

On the ins and outs of Haworth, Keighley, and the other nations

For the bugger has me heart aflame and all me neurons fired

Sigh.  He looks like Morrissey.

He’s hired.

 *

© Gail Foster November 12th 2016

If the reader is unfamiliar with the work of Morrissey

or is simply up for a good laugh

just check out the music video ‘November Spawned A Monster’…

God Help the Disunited States

 

Call for the Dalai Lama, Christ

Mohammed, and the Fates

Call the Druids, call the Rabbis

Call the angels, and their mates

Call the scientists, the physicists

To measure and collate

Call psychologists who understand

And artists who create

Call the clowns who see things sideways

And the writers who narrate

Get them sitting round a table, midst

The wildly spinning plates

With biscuits, tea, and fairy cakes

And someone to translate

Doing icebreakers, and mindfulness

And role play, and debate

And let them come up with a miracle

This madness to abate

To stop the Trump thing in his tracks

Or trip him on a trait

For Hilary’s annoying

And her shiny hardness grates

But Trump will make the USA

A horrid hell of hate

Let’s hope that this committee

Of all the good and great

Who wield the wisdom of the world

And spiritual weight

Can devise some cosmic strategy

The Trump thing to deflate

Before America becomes

The Disunited States

 

© Gail Foster 2016