No Muse

 The trees dance,

The river rambles along 

The birds chirp,

Their usual merry unhibited,

The bees move from flower to flower,

searching for sweetness

A cool breeze flows by

And the poet can't think - 

can't conjure up anything of beauty,

or remarkable adoration 

or unrequited love as poets are fond of,

And there flies a butterfly 

A yellow butterfly. Colorful 

It flies away, like a moodless poet's muse

I Don't Fathom

 I don't fathom where I am 

Neither where I came from 

nor where I am going 

I'd have been content, 

if I were imbibing a beer 

I don't have a beer 

But I got time, 

My muse ran away, 

with the woman who never loved me

She's happy somewhere 

I no longer long for her 

I long for a few beers, 

and, thereafter, a dreamless sleep