Muse for Monday

Green fairy MantraIt seems Mantra is in need of an introduction to a few in the crowd.

She has been around a long time. I have been writing poetry for more than thirty years. Even before I knew of muses and inspiration, I had drawn green fairies which had no resemblance to Tinkerbell. Over the course of decades, her appearance has changed very little, although I have aged.

There are a few of you who have been around long enough to had seen the first introductory explanation of Mantra. It came after a few weeks of exposing M3 to the little imp but before she posed for some of her many newer portraits which have come to inhabit M3, like the one here at the top of the post and the one gracing the cover of her first book.

leafy fairy Mantra of M3

She is definitely a breed apart, even as fairies and muses go, insomuchas she goes walkabout to spread the verse and to sit for drawings. Both of these images and the one which will grace the interior of the new book of poetry, Mantra’s Book of Shadows, are a result of her taking up residence in someone else’s head for long enough to make hands draw her.

So what?

Mantra fireAs I have been prepping for the book tour beginning next week, the new poetry book is on the schedule. In concert with some of the interviews which are very concerned with how I pack 48 hours into any given day, how Mantra operates is of interest.

Writers and authors tend to have characters in their heads, either playing out the scenes needing to be written or arguing the story line with the scribe. Mantra is a bit different from that.

Instead of the little firebrand speaking in a language I understand, she makes music and sings. I hear the music all the time. Having the M3 Soundtrack is one of my ways of testing the water to see if she is singing outside my head. (FYI, she is.) Some days, she is content doing covers, but the vast majority of it is music which is novel.


Mantra's NotebookAnd then there are the days when I understand the words. Those are the days I write poetry. During lean times, it will be a once a week task. During a deluge, I may write four in a day. Yeah, it may not sound like much, but considering the average length of a poem is a bit over 500 words (with epic ones over 2,000), it can all be a bit much. The closest I have ever came to haiku was nine stanzas.

During the writing of MBS, there were days finishing a poem would leave me so exhausted I had no other option but to sleep. Literally, I put down the notebook, immediately lay down and fell directly into REM sleep. Occasionally, it was the only sleep I would get for days on end.

Only one poem from Mantra for a Muse did that to me. Those who have read the book immediately pick out it was Treasure900 words which sucked out the marrow.


This will be the last Muse for Monday from MBS. As with all poems from the lantern, it comes with an understated title, Youth. Depending on our place on the path, we either sympathize with the speaker or wish we never get to that place. If we are in between, we can see both ends of the spectrum.


I don’t remember being young.
Others speak of carefree laughter,
But my mind’s awash with something.

Swirling responsibility,
An acute punctuality,
Stark and lonely reality.

I’ve learned enough to want and yearn
For the selfish and wanton whims
Of the youth I can’t remember.

Unbridled sexuality,
A heady sensuality,
Definite non-reality.

Dreams nothing more than fantasy,
Even sitting in broad daylight,
In touch with youthful ecstasy.

No more adult complexity.
Fun unconventionality,
An alternate reality.

Where my body responds to touch,
Sight, sound and taste of touching skin.
The feel of youth rediscovered.


What part of youth is missed the most? In your refusal to grow old, what can you see you have forgotten? Does writing ever drain you physically?

#Hashtags: #youth #poetry #gettingoldsucks

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  1. I still remember my youth, but it was not misspent: duties and responsibilities. I wouldn’t want to go back though. I look forward.

    Sometimes, more than others, writing leaves me dumb and wiped out.

    I like this poem, Red. I actually get it. Yay and great writing.

    • You and I are of like mind: I do not want to return. I had hoped I was not the only one to pour that much into writing 😉 xxx Great to see you, Tess. xxx

  2. Writing doesn’t drain me, but finding the time and space to write does.
    I don’t think about my youth that much, not until I look at my hands. My hands are the only thing that really make me feel like I’m aging. I miss my young hands I suppose.

    • I have been looking at my hands more lately…mostly as they stop working. I miss my young hands which could type 110+ words a minute. This below seventy thing is for the birds. The one-handed times are the absolute end.

  3. I enjoyed your poem Red,, arrgh those youthful days seem in a haze of fog…. if I were to be honest, I don’t really think I miss much about my days of youth… maybe that sounds quite sad… But I am happy being who I am right now…. and wouldnt want to bring back all that emotional attachment that went with my teenage years . I was a very insecure depressed little soul LOL…

    Wishing you a wonderful time with all your reviews etc and love and Hugs my friend

    • My youth was a wondrous place to be, yet I would not return to it. I much prefer the forward motion at this stage of my life. In truth, it is very similar to the motion then, only far more stepping stones have been revealed in the path than back then. <3 Great to see you enjoy this one, Sue. Bright blessings, my sweet friend. xxx

  4. I miss the ability to do stupid things and be reckless without a second thought. I’m too wise now lol

  5. I tried to leave a comment and my computer got dodgy, so I don’t know if it went through. This is what I said: I miss the ability to do stupid things and be reckless without a second thought. I’m too wise now lol

    • Both comments caught. You were filtered by a WP upgrade everyone will get shortly. You are about 32 seconds older than young. Why are you still not reckless… at least to some degree?


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