The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

ISSN 2249 –2178


Volume-3                                                      DECEMBER -2013                                           Number-2




                                                                                                                                            by Phyllis Berentsen


It looks to be a gloomy day

Until my friends come out to play.


We splash in puddles in the street,

To see who gets the wettest feet.


We squish our hands in gushy mud,

And tell each other that it's blood.


We slide right down our grassy hill

Upon our pants -- they’re grassy still.


We climb up in our apple trees,

And hang from branches by our knees.


We practice wheelies on our bikes.

That spikes a thrill! We holler “Yikes!”


We make ourselves a picnic lunch

With sandwiches and berry punch.


Our lively spirits fill the day

With joy and chase the gloom away.


When you’ve got friends you don’t need sun

To have yourself stupendous fun.









                                                                                                                                           by Phyllis Berentsen



Mama – when I grow up,

 What can I be?

 Sweetie -- You’ll surely turn into

Another Mama like me.


Mama, could I be a fiddler?

What? -- Isn’t a Mama enough?

You know, your Aunt Betsy’s a fiddler--

Go ask your Auntie that stuff.


Mama, could I be a doctor?

Come back down to earth -- goodness sakes!

Go ask Doc Dougall that question.

He knows what doctorin’ takes.


Or maybe could I be a builder –

Build houses and fact’ries and stores?

Or how ‘bout could I be a sailor,

And sail off to far away shores?


Or Mama –could I be the pres’dent?

Girl, you don’t want me to advise.

Go ask Daddy, ask Grandma, ask teacher and preacher—

They might bring you back down to size.


Oh Mama – I went and I asked them.

And guess what - they all gave me pride!

They said I could be whatever I want.

Mama -- how can I ever decide?