Dealing With the Muse
As far as that
pesky Muse is concerned
she’s there, feeling lazy
and sleeping inside you somewhere
all you need do is wake her up
and this is how you do it:
just start writing something,
doesn’t matter what.
Sit in a quiet place,
let your mind wander,
pluck something out of the air, anything:
school bus, blue bird, toothache, King Henry 8 . . .
Doesn’t matter,
just pick something and begin writing.
Once you begin writing
(here’s the fun part)
the Muse will see you
are having fun without her,
she’ll be jealous (and probably pissed)
and she’ll jump into the action
Trust me, give it a try
Good luck
The Great Depression
Yes, you lose sleep
worrying where the money
will come from
for the new septic system
and to pay the credit card debts
and to fly to Florida to visit your mother.
I know you worry. I’m sorry about that.
But you have come
from so much more dire circumstances
from so much worse –
the Grandfather who in the Great Depression
slept in his car with his three daughters
ate spaghetti and stale bread
who dug ditches and graves and drove a laundry truck
to keep his family together
after their mother
left her life on the kitchen floor
in desperation and despair.
So you see I cannot feel sorry for you
you have a 60 inch TV
iPhones iPads computers and the Internet
music and a subscription to the Boston Lyric Opera
a medical plan and a house cleaner
you have been to Hawaii, London and Paris
you eat fresh fruits and vegetables
and steak
and sleep in a bed.
Woodstock 50
Yes I know
it’s the 50 year anniversary of Woodstock
the granddaddy of all music festivals
featured many of the bands and performers
I still love:
Jimi, Janis, The Who, Jefferson Airplane,
Joe Cocker, Canned Heat, Mountain,
Grateful Dead, Santana, Country Joe and the Fish,
Crosby, Stills & Nash . . . But no I didn’t go.
I was working three jobs
at the time saving to buy my girl’s
engagement ring.
But I confess I never
would’ve taken her there anyway
too uncertain too dangerous.
Caught in the rain and mud
crammed in among thousands of strangers
wasn’t my idea of a good time.
I wasn’t that much
of a free spirit back then (or now actually).
Besides, what was I supposed to tell her dad:
I’m taking your daughter hundreds
of miles away to sleep in a muddy field
for three nights with thousands
of drugged-out whack-a-doodles. Nope
that never would’ve worked.
Highfalutin
I long for those days when we’d stroll up and down
Newberry Street wandering in and out
of art galleries searching
for the next painting in our collection.
Fun seeing the various colors and scenes
landscapes and portraits
classical, abstract, contemporary.
We’d talk with gallery owners as if we knew
what we were doing
sometimes meet the artist themselves.
After a while we had enough paintings
not room enough to hang any more but still we’d go
gallery-hopping hoping for something
that took our breath away or at least for a gallery
that served cookies and tea assuming
we had money to go along with
our sophisticated highfalutin airs.
Visiobibliophobia
Fear of Social Media
Herb
Doesn’t have a computer, iPad,
or old-fashioned cellphone.
Never needs those contraptions
frightened he’ll get sucked into
the social media void
never get out again
Detailman
Decades ago I took care of my customers without
laptops, cellphones, iPads, email, voicemail, and texting
by using a pay phone in the Howard Johnson’s lobby.
24-7
Texting back in the sixties
would not have helped me
hold onto her
but rather given guys on her campus
instant access to her 24-7
Loneliness
Leaving her Sunday nights
was awful
driving into the darkness:
no cellphones, email, texting.
If she found another guy
would be weeks before I knew.
Time Waster
Cutting back on social media: check Facebook
and in no time an hour’s shot. Nothing lasting
ever comes of it, like sending smoke signals in the wind.
Photography Credit: Jason Rice
Michael Estabrook has published many collections, the most recent being The Poet’s Curse, A Miscellany (The Poetry Box, 2019).