Robin Amy Bass

MY MUSE

My Muse he is a misfit,
That’s what I’ve heard him claim.
But I think he’s a perfect fit,
Sometimes, he goes by other names.

My Muse has been dubbed T-bone
By military friends.
But he is tall and makes me tick,
So I call him Big Ben

My Muse, he’s an enigma,
A chameleon of sorts.
At times he’s kind of moody
At times, a real good sport.

My Muse, he stokes my fire,
He truly is A Blaze.
But there are times; he’s cold as ice,
I swear it gets me crazed.

My Muse is no tailgater.
At times he trails behind.
But he can travel at warp speed
And creep into my mind.

My Muse, he has his boundaries,
A paradox with guile…
But still, he is the only one
Who gets my soul to smile.

It only takes a word or two,
To wipe away my tears.
And some words he has said to me,
I carry them for years.

Sometimes I walk around at work,
I think of what he’s said.
My friends say “There’s that look again.
Girl, what is in your head?”

I do not share my Muse with them.
‘Cause he belongs to me
If I tried to explain myself,
They’d never get it, see?

My Muse, he is no choir boy,
He’s not a simple man.
But still I try to read the map
And do the best I can

To be there, when he has the need,
And not to overwhelm.
I trust we won’t get blown off course.
I’ll let him steer the helm.

And should we get a little lost
I would not be displeased.
As long as I know he’s nearby.
I find I am at ease.

My Muse has written songs of love,
Not all of them for me.
My Muse has written songs of war,
I wish I had the key

To find the things he holds in side
I’d like to really see.
Still, I accept just what he shares,
Respect his privacy

So I hold back, try not to pry
I’ve learned, I can’t sneak in.
Get caught, I wouldn’t risk the trust.
Some things belong to him.

My Muse, I know his flame is high.
I guess A Blaze of Glory.
I’d find him in Blizzard too.
But that’s another story.

My Muse, he keeps a secret too,
While I am apt to tell.
My Muse can be the silent type
While I am apt to yell.

Of course he turns the volume up
When he is in the mood.
He’s knows I’d do a strip for him
Go dancing in the nude.

My Muse can chill me to the bone.
My Muse can get me hot.
I’ve never met another man
That has all that he’s got.

My Muse loves music, just like me.
Sometimes we disagree
On who has written better notes.
But still there’s harmony.

My Muse he is a Yankee Fan.
And now I am one too.
He says he also likes the Mets
It’s Boston that we Boo.

Though I am just a girl from Queens
He calls me Uptown Girl
My Muse, A Jersey Downtown Guy
Makes me feel like a pearl.

My Muse he is a roaring Blaze.
And He’s a Blizzard too.
So I watch as the seasons change.
Well what’s a girl to do?

My Muse, he makes me laugh inside,
Or sometimes right out loud.
I take him with me everywhere
Not lonely in a crowd.

My Muse he likes to be concise
While I go on and on.
So I will stop, and let him splice,
Or else he might be gone!

Author’s Note: This is a poem I wrote for Tim/T-Bone. It makes him blush, I don’t care. I too need a muse to write; in fact this whole group has become a kind of muse.