The Muses Are At It Again

All my nine muses sat so sweet
A pretty row there at my feet
And to those dear girls I did say
“What should we write about today?”

Calliope said “To please aesthetics
Let’s make this no less than epic”
To which Clio said “Oh please
Those no one has the time to read
Though you would find me most euphoric
If we chose a theme historic”

Erato yawned said “Boring, boring
Who’s up for a little whoring
We know sex sells, so why bicker
I’ve a wetness in my knickers”

“All you think about is sex!
Let’s consult a religious text
I feel a need for veneration
Do your best to leave out Satan
For your mortal soul I’ll pray”
So Polyhymnia had her say

Then Melpomene said “Enough girls
With all the sadness in the world
Let’s write one so they’ll end up crying
I’m thinking say, some puppies dying”

“How could we write ’bout such things
I’d so much rather dance and sing”
“Oh Terpischore let’s make it plain
You dance just like Seinfeld’s Elaine

Oh doesn’t everybody see
We’ll likely go with comedy”
Said Thalia sporting a smug grin
Urania whined “You always win”

Thalia said “Your whining pains us
How ’bout some jokes about Uranus!”
“And some music?” Euterpe crooned
And Clio said “You’re out of tune!”

Then such a sight, I live and breath
As Euterpe pulled at Clio’s weave
The claws were out most horrifying
Fake nails, underwear went flying

Thalia made a ninja move
Then punched Erato in the boob
So from the room I made a sprint
As someone screamed “Oh no you didn’t!”

But don’t you know this awful fighting
Happens often when I’m writing
Every time there is a doubt
Of what I want to write about

So your reading experience might make more sense, here is a brief summary of The Muses:

Calliope – epic poetry

Clio- history
Erato – eroticism
Euterpe – music
Polyhymnia – religion, hymns
Melpomene – tragedy
Terpischore- dancing and singing
Thalia -comedy
Urania – astrology and astronomy
Thanks to Aquileana at La Audacia de Aqulies for the information and inspiration.

The Drummer’s Perspective

The stage is set the lights are low
And through the doors we’re hearing
A deejay that calls out our name
And roar of the crowd cheering

And we’ll run up to play soon as
Our roadies and our tech
Can sep’rate our guitarist’s hands
From round our singer’s neck

The feud started so long ago
So far back I can’t trace
And no one can recall why it
Started in the first place

Some say it due to who would ride
Shotgun on the tour bus
While others claim a preference
For chipped ice over crushed

But wives were slept with, lawyers called
Contracts drawn up again
And tempered flared as bowls were left
With just brown M&Ms

Itch powder poured in leather pants
Fist fight in Indiana
And concealed details that would strand
Our singer in Montana

Concerts that degenerate
To nothing but feedback
Guitarist drowns the vocals out
With his Marshall stack

Then hospital bills pile up
Doctor’s would be behooved
To learn procedures where drumsticks
Are surgically removed

And though music’s a healthy way
To take out one’s aggressions
Don’t think they meant a bass guitar
Should be a deadly weapon

But that is how the story ends
With grief and with confusion
And though I mourn deep down I’m glad
There won’t be a reunion.