When Muses Sing

The first time he heard,

the muses singing,

his father was busily writing.

When he looked,

the poetic words amazed him,

he wanted to be just like him.

Came the time,

when his father,

laid down his pen,

for the last time,

the silence –

near broke his heart.

Day after day,

he walked past that desk,

but there was never a sound.

Then one night,

upon the midnight hour,

he saw a light

and muses began to sing.

He listened,

then sat,

with pen poised.

When dawn broke,

he read what was upon the paper,

amazed that his father’s poetic talent,

inherited, had he.

He knew there was a bit of luck,

in all this too,

for there were days,

when the muses were silent,

when no words came,

but with patience,

soon they came singing again.

As he turned to go,

now  wanting to seek dreams,

that would return to him,

the days of watching his father write.

He looked toward the desk,

from which he had just risen,

in the dark shadows just before,

the light of day shone,

he saw the shadow of his father,

pen in hand,

writing, hunched over the way he always was.

In amazement, he stood,

in silence and waited,

soon as he had always done,

his father put down his pen

and looked over at him.

He nodded his head,

there seemed to be a smile upon his lips

and then he just faded away.

Breathlessly he stumbled,

to the desk,

there, upon a sheet of paper,

he saw his dear father’s script –

love you son, hope the muses are always kind.

Rasma Raisters

I am a dreamer, a poet and a writer. These are my passions as well as music. My hometown is NYC. I just relocated back to the U.S and am settled in Daytona Beach, Florida with my wonderful cat Sid.

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Rasma Raisters

I am a dreamer, a poet and a writer. These are my passions as well as music. My hometown is NYC. I just relocated back to the U.S and am settled in Daytona Beach, Florida with my wonderful cat Sid.

10 thoughts on “When Muses Sing

  • September 21, 2018 at 8:38 PM
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    This was beautiful, Rasma. A delight to read. Sometimes I feel I also hear the muses sing.

    Reply
    • September 22, 2018 at 11:24 AM
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      Thank you, John. My muses begin in whispers and if I don’t really grab on to the inspiration the chorus builds up and then they begin to sing.

      Reply
    • September 22, 2018 at 11:25 AM
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      Thank you, Tony. This was inspired by how I felt it should be when one inherits poetic talent from a parent.

      Reply
  • September 22, 2018 at 2:22 AM
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    I so enjoyed reading this, Rasma. The ending is filled with warmth and a love that transcends death. Beautiful work.

    Reply
  • September 22, 2018 at 7:36 AM
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    What better legacy from a father to a son, passing on the gifts offered each time the Muses Sing. I know that feeling of staring at a blank sheet before me, I wait with patience and quiet as my Muse appears from the shadows and graces my spirit to allow me to flow my verse. Praise be our Muse indeed and let them sing to us their stirring souls. Beautifully penned Rasma,

    Reply
    • September 22, 2018 at 11:27 AM
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      Thank you, Vincent. Many a muse has whispered to me while I have been sleeping and then I awake and a poem must be penned.

      Reply
  • September 28, 2018 at 7:34 AM
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    Wow Rasma, this may be my favorite piece from you. Such warmth and embrace in each line. Lucky son being able to move the words on the page like his old man. I hope to give that gift to my boy. He already started writing poetry in his english class and actually he’s not bad. This one hit home for me. Great work.

    Reply
    • September 28, 2018 at 5:39 PM
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      Thank you, Paul. My dad passed on his poetic talent to me when I was just eight at which time I wrote simple verse in both Latvian and English. I am sure your boy will also come to love poetry.

      Reply

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