Calliope came the other day to visit me,

She said that I needed more epic poetry.

I prefer the succinctness, I told her,

Short and sweet is what I prefer.

Clio said my words are just history,

I asked her why, she said just let it be.

Why must this dance, I questioned, be such a chore?

The muse of my dancing remains Terpischore.

I enjoy talking to my muse of love poetry, Erato,

This is the genre of poetry I prefer to go.

But Melpomene said my works are a tragedy,

Though I thought them more like Thalia said, a comedy.

Polyhymnia raised her sweet hand, then her voice,

She stated that sacred poetry is but a choice.

Euterpe lamented that she felt left out,

Music in poetry she mused, is what it's all about.

I had those proverbial stars in my eyes,

So try to imagine my chagrin, my surprise

When it was Urania, muse of astronomy

Who told the other eight to shut up, and just let it be.

Their mother, Mnemosyne said to just let it all go,

That I really didn't want Zeus to come down below.

So now, I still write just as I please, as I choose,

Sometimes more, often less, without a muse.

09/18/2008

Author's Note: ... in Greek mythology, the nine muses ruled over the Arts and Sciences, offering inspiration in those subjects. They were the daughters of Zeus, and Mnemosyne, who represented memory... in ancient times there were no books, poets had to memorize their works. My mother grew up on Thalia Street in New Orleans, the streets in her neighborhood were named thusly... hence my beginnings...

Posted on 09/18/2008
Copyright © 2026 Joe Cramer