The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

Volume-1                                         †††† december-2011                                                    Number-2






††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† by Clinton Van Inman


They said that you were dressed right

In your blues, your red and white,

The fresh cut flowers were neatly laid,

The flag was folded as the band had played.

We stood and watched with Sundayís best

In places not for playing you would rest,

Momma fell sick, said it was the heat

When they lowered you under our feet.


They said that you were dressed right

With your blues, your red and white,

But none of those names engraved in stone

Or those flags waving for some proud cause

That gives the grownups much applause,

Or even your medals matteróbecause you are gone.





††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† by Clinton Van Inman



The river curves with graceful sweep.

Along its banks the willows weep.

Their slender boughs are bending low

To kiss the sunís reflection far below

And yield their mystery to the stream

That carries away its boundless dream.

Perhaps the pulse or lasting splendor

Will express some secret or oft desire

Beyond all rule and mindless measure

My words too will press even higher.

Without poetry our world will perish

Leaving not a plank or rack behind

To show one royal act to cherish

Some idea that history is not blind.