Musemagik by Gloria J. Wimberley

 


Musemagik

 According to my writer-friend Magda…
her muse
wears an ethereal, cascading veil
sparkle of star
silken plume of quail
This muse
speaks in sparrow
and murmurs
in dialect of dove
cautioning her
that His rainbows are but mirage
“See” she whispers
(not in language of man)
“how they melt
in Mother Nature’s mouth of rain…”

A Lady
of silent intensity:
a telepathic banshee
(of unseen beauty)
who flails her arms and voice
in a blood jet of ideas…
The fingers of her muse
death’s-head
moths
fluttering under her skin,
Magda’s soul again and again
awakens to the abrupt arrival,
feeling like—
a cobra
facing a mongoose
whose fur stands on end
as it lunges—
The only truth
bleeds from that moment

                                                    into…

                                                       her…

            pen…




Gloria J. Wimberley