The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

ISSN 2249 –2178


Volume-3                                                      June -2013                                              Number-1



To The Truly Strong Man (and Woman)


(For the students in Comp II)

                                                by David Izzo


Bluster passes muster to some blokes who think cacophonously barbarous mouth noise is the measure of a man.

These mouths also practice Facial intimidation by way of hard looks learned from watching TV wrestlers.

Their glares are aimed to intimidate and buckle the weak knees of those who pale at the

School yard bullies or so these crass yahoos would like to believe…


Flash and dash and bright colors suffice for what once required substance in a life of the mind.

Now Style is all! Flirtation!


The Seer said...“It’s the enormous tragedy of everything nowadays: flirtation.”

Life today is pictures without frames to give them weight.

Windswept, these powdery pastels smudge and dull and rub away from rough handling,

leaving no lasting impression but ephemeral neon flashes and dashes!

The faux wrestlers have no time for the incremental appreciation of steady detail that comes with the subtext of layered and firm oils brushed on with slow and steady hands.

The steady hands are held by the steadiest hand that holds us all, though some will fall away until the horn blows open eternity.


Intellectuals are the enemy. Long live Stupidity!

Attention span? What attention span?



To these frantic warblers, the few calm hands say:

“Time Must Have a Stop! Watch! Listen!”


Only cumulative study defines line and shadow and gives depth its full day.

Deep, ‘neath the first impression is this lasting truth:  There is still salt left in the earth:

These are the children of the eight day.

A choir full of Psalms they sing even when the voices are silent.

Violence would never occur to them.

Walk the line; walk the pew, Sunday school.

First they learn, then they teach—they reach a star of blessed harmony in a hallelujah chorus—Amen!



Who are they?


The blue-collar father who meets his college-age daughter for lunch three times a week;

Her classmate, the adorable Laura, who works full-time nights at the Ramada Inn to pay her tuition


Basic! Earnest! Dedicated! and...



No riot of babble or false charm, and no harm to anyone.


They are the centrifugal force holding together the four corners of the earth, which otherwise

Would always seem a moment away from Yeatsian calamity:


Things fall apart;   the centre cannot hold...


But it does--somehow. . .


And it holds most especially here in Grovers Corners where the salt of the earth live.

Grainy! Tough! Basic!

No flood can wash their salt away,

For when the water levels off, the salt settles back again.


They Are Invincible!


The People, Yes!


And Noah smiles; his metaphorical ark has seats reserved for goodness

And the heavenly host awaits at the entrance to the pearly gates—

The father, son, and Holy Ghost will recognize their most cherished children of the Eight Day.

Hail the Truly Strong Man (and woman)!

And welcome them!