The Staff of the Muse Mongers Motel
Presents...
Mick
(Mick Muse)
Poet of the Month
October, 2009
Congratulations, dear Mick!
The members of the Muse Mongers Motel
Community have chosen You as our
Poet of the Month for October, 2009.
It is with great pleasure that we honor you
as the Muse Mongers Motel's new Poet of the Month!
has always been a blessing. Your poetry is
engaging, soulful, and soul stirring, and I'm so glad
that you choose to share your poetic gifts here, with us.
The support you have shown is sincere, the comments
you give your peers are always thoughtful and encouraging.
Thank you for all that you do to make our
Motel the wonderful 'home' we have all come
to know and love...but most of all, thank you for You...
you are cherished, dear friend.
The Staff of MMM
Here are three Poems by "Mick"
Muse Mongers Motel's
Poet of the Month
for October, 2009
Nothing Much Grows Here
When the preacher comes,
tell him I've gone.
I'm walking by myself today.
Across the rows of feed corn and butterbeans.
Past the fire barrel and well.
Beyond the garage; the bird bath; the clothes line.
Through the tomato patch, paddock, and dog pen.
Past the chestnut - scared with memories
of forts and swings and tangled kites.
Across the county line road.
Over the hog-wire fence, crowned with barbed wire.
Into the back field.
Nothing much grows here.
Too much sun I guess.
When the preacher comes,
tell him I've gone.
Delta Daze
levees rose from borrowed earth,
ripped open like spears
piercing the river side,
earthen dough, kneaded and
laid out to bake in the Southern Sun.
sacrifices for the sake of fertile land.
rain brought bounty to the river, and
the river to the land, and
the earth waited:
cupped hands beneath faucet,
chalices filling with fish.
on summer Sundays,
we fished those borrow pits, and
the preachers fished us.
we learned to love the overflowing
banks of a Spring flood.
like fish, we feared nothing more
than drowning on dry land.
Two Plats Over
I found God,
runnin' a fence line,
a two-board fence -
tarred and nailed,
winding its way
'cross
land promised by
lien.
I hung with Him for a while,
stretched my arms out
over the top
rail,
leaned my weight
against the fence, and
gazed down upon
horses grazing in a clearing
at the bottom of a hill,
two plats over.
After a while,
He calmed.
I bridled Him, and
turned Him out,
two plats over.
Our voters are very discerning Mick
congrats my friend
