The Muse

(An International Journal of Poetry)

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




†††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† by Stan Galloway


The flotsam at the lake edge joins the litter

from the trees (the leaves, the twigs, the shredded

bark shed in a storm), and putrefaction

is the order of the day.  But in

this dying world the trillium peeks through,

each one a dot of white, the memory of

your smile, again, again, again, as often

as your grinning words gave hope to me

before you lay down that last desperate time.


Oh trillium, send my smile back to her.


Pen Pals

††††††††† ††††††††††††††††by Stan Galloway

I write to you, you write to me.

We each get glimmers of each otherís lives.

We share our happiness.

We share our griefs.

We share the mundane sounds of life.

In days before the keystroke or the phone pad,

We would have used a pen with ink.

Today we speak without a mark to leave behind,

Each screen wiped clean until we start again.