Clever ending. I like the honest pen impaling the Muse. It turns from a light mood to dark humor(?) in your usual disturbing fashion. How seriously can we take poetry, though, that uses “doth”, “shall”, “fancy”, and “Muse”? I’m sort of with T. S. Eliot that a poet writes in his contemporary tongue. (Unless that’s how you usually speak to people.)

Oh, John, I don’t think a poet can write wholly in his contemporary tongue. No poet would speak how he normally speaks to people in poetry. That’s why poetry is so different is because it’s a different language. Obviously, there is such a thing as overdoing a poem with fancy language, but I think Laura is fine. Shall is still used, by my British relatives, at least, fancy is still in circulation, unless I’m stuck in the dark ages. Muses are complained about daily by many students. Doth is the only archaic word, and actually, the only complaint I have about is is that it’s “does” and first she uses “doth” and then she uses “does.” It would be fine if they both were ‘doth’ or both ‘does,’ just as long as it’s consistent.

Just don’t knock off the Muse of Chocolate. Little known she may be, but she’s the only thing keeping this civilization alive.

Very interesting metaphorical ideas here, the Muse ditching you for another pen. Good poem, good poem.

Oh come now, wouldn’t your muse be male? I compliment you – you’re honest about dishonesty. I recall your saying that your poetry is rarely autobiographical. I don’t quite believe that.

Thank you for the comments, all!

Mr. Hastus–have no fear, I hold the Muse of Chocolate in my highest esteem.

Mr. Antónito–reverence is not a bad suggestion, although it clearly runs against the grain.

Mr. McCord–I must confess, I’ve never heard of a male muse. And this is one of the few poems I’ve written that should be considered as autobiographical. Otherwise I’d be in a nuthouse by now.

Mr. Holmes–thanks!

Even if meant sarcastically, this poem seems to reveal in the details of the technique a more serious side. The first stanza, which contains the ‘doth,’ ‘fancy,’ and ‘Muse’ in question, sets the stage with a kind of epic invective or threnody, rather melodramatic and contrived. Its gilt diction covers a grey abstraction void of imagery.

Then, as it were, a layer is peeled off, and the second stanza gives a quiet contemplation with more natural diction: ‘firmer,’ ‘writhes and shrinks,’ ‘imagined,’ familiar if not everyday words. Even ‘masquerade’ is not wholly strange, especially to a Phantom aficionado. You might be better served here by ‘looks for’ and ‘tires,’ though, rather than ’seeks out’ and ‘wearies’. (Incidentally, you have a nice tension in all the consonants of ’smiles, / Or writhes and shrinks’.) The description gives a few simple images: a pen, a mask, hiding, the appearance of pain.

The third stanza is by far my favourite. Another layer is removed, and the trochaic substitution (‘dáres she’) provides an impetus in the transition from speculation back to enquiry. Now the calm begins to break up into a sense of urgency or confusion, compounded by the enjambment (new to this stanza). Familiar diction (‘innocence,’ ’search,’ ‘unfruitful,’ ‘honest,’) mixes with formal (’seek,’ ’shall,’ ‘upon’); the syntax is vaguely tragic, but not with the neat mimicry of the first stanza. Master Ahern called it ‘dark humor(?)’ — and certainly the humour is doubtful. The images evoked become ludicrous and disturbing: a pen speared through a dead but crawling being. And, at the end, the long, sibilant coda of ‘corpse’ draws out the ’slinking’ quality and sizzles into silence.

In this way, the poem moves from pretentious finery to natural, everyday sanity and decency to honest and disturbed bewilderment, just as the Muse leaves her masks of smiles, goes out to find something better, and in the end returns dead, killed by ‘an honest pen’. Oddly, though, the careful details of the poem reveal a talented, capable poet and leave the readers to wonder if, despite the wound, her Muse may yet live on.

In all, very well done. Brava!