To Patria Bula

Your sight remains with me,inside my eyes. We were developing a deep relationship. I would wait for you at 9muses. Now, I miss you. We knew how to Celebrate, singing and dancing. We both enjoyed painting. I told you I was writing a book and you were so excited about writing also. So much to share with the world. I am sure you thought a lot about it. We got to sing together and that was a relief. Pat,You and I playing guitar, singing the Spanish song Volvere, No Volere, Standing by me and enjoying ourselves. You left, and left an imprint on my heart. Take care!

Carmen Muniz

This poem was written as a collaborative effort by the Poetry Class. The lesson was on how to mine for words to improve poetry.

Food by The Live Muses Society

Step into the kitchen, and by the nose

remember; sweet scents of dwellings,

Thoughts of comfort to compose.

Memories emerge, like a rivers head spring

Return to family, friends, and home

reunions, thoughts of spring and summer.

In the journey of thought, we do roam,

Recalling aromas that stir distant murmurs

Of sharp spices, savory sauces, like families,


To sweet holidays, abundant family communion

Visions of loved ones and me, I am warmly humbled

By its invitation, reminding me I am human

Life's Journey invites all of us to the table and eat

Baking and roasting is done, come on over, have a seat

Four In The Morning

​​A little cold,

The promise of sunrise in Chelsea, Manhattan,

From the window, the streets look like

canyons. In the warm cozy room

Two American Dames. Sisters,

Preparing to watch a royal family


A biracial woman, Solitary but royal in purpose

And spirit, to her Prince.

The sisters titled themselves.

Two American Ladies in Waiting

A Fantasy Peerage Partaking in Celebration

The New Yorkers were properly prepared

They had their




They Dined on tuna,

 On Marmalade

Tea oh’ the tea!

Rich with the flavor of

Earl gray and honey

Food, the fragrance of brisk morning

They were dressed in their finest

A dream of Spring hats, white laced gloves, for the tea of course,

The dresses were elegant, tailored, but in reality silk pajamas.

​A pullout comfy sofa was their second-row seat 

In Saint Georges Chapel.

Saving, of course, the front row for the Queen's view

The Ladies wined and dined observing on the Tellie

The arrival of American Royalty

Oprah, George and Amahl, and warrior Serena.

Britain’s other Royalty; Sir Elton, David, and Posh, and Dame Helen of Miren.

The Bride arrived.

The Dames were excited, elated.

Her gown


As she glided up the steps,

Twin uniformed boys lifting

Her gossamer train

Embroidered with National flowers,


The New York Dames

Glanced at each other with tears.

Thy felt Elation,

The felt uplifted

Feelings of Pride, Joy

They smiled for the Couple
In a room, on a canyoned street

On the Isle of Manhattan

On a chilly Day in May.

Poetry Class 9Muses Art Center ​

Where are you? I can't believe you're gone. I saw her only last week. It didn't look like anything was wrong with her. Her mind still as sharp as a knife. Death sometimes comes without a warning. No time to prepare.

Artists don't grieve in the same way as other people, we feel the grief deep in the pit of our stomach. Our brain replays vivid memories we had which brings us joy but also pain.

Brad Goldstein 

What Can I Tell You About Me? 

I laugh,
I make others laugh
but when I go home
There are times
When I cry
I feel a great loss
Both are present within me
Sunrise to moon glow
both are present
and I still live
So for today
I thrive...

​by Wiley Guy

So colorful a world did you dream, when loneliness whispered, you still had a place to go.

Clever little boy, I want you to know, you saved me and made me. I thank you…

Wiley Guy

My Eyes Have Seen

My heart sings a little song,
That takes me down this wayward pond.

My eyes have seen the likes of few
Who has sung a song of only you.

Few dogs and cats will see this night,
The thoughts I think are just polite.

As autumn leaves fall from fallen trees,
That slowly sink behind the breeze.

We sail as if to meet the moon,
With laughter that found us soon.

Listen as we dare to look,
At this rushing little brook.

Each laid on a steady hand
And in the rush to join this land.

My heart sings a little song
That takes me down this wayward pond.

 by Clarence Smith

For Me

To write a poem worth reading requires self-disclosure.

Beyond my comfort zone.

Yet it's just me and my little book with pieces of my heart exposed.

I'm okay with knowing all of me because we're all the same I think.

Humans, so complex, full of joy and fear and doubt.

And lots of "if only"s. Although I reject "if only", my mind still dances through that phrase, then quickly moves to this one day ahead.

Sometimes I dwell in bittersweet regret but not for long.

Melancholia is not my style

I prefer thoughts that make me smile.

by Linda G.

Magnificent Sunrise

The day is everything.
If I get to hear the wind performing its howl for me in my apartment, I am delighted.
Nature's magic has not been wasted on this grain of sand, this day.

by Linda G.

A Poem to Myself

I have a story for the little boy who was locked out on the porch as the rest of them commuted in the house.

How brave you were to imagine worlds and adventures. So vivid it filled you with joy instead of bitterness.

Creative Writing and Poetry

We are gathered here together to celebrate our Sister Patria
We’re looking forward to joining you 
Someday. Life is a circle that goes round and round you were here last Thursday but you are gone today.  Lydia Stirlacci


There is a place
A place where crime and hate are unknown

There is a place
A place where all people are considered equal

There is a place
A place where disease and suffering can’t be found

There is a place
A place where people can express themselves freely, without being looked down upon for their views

There is a place
A place where opportunity knocks on everyone’s door

There is a place
A place where the innocent are never taken advantage of

There is a place
A place where children never go hungry.

There is a place
A place where people judge you from within

There is a place
There must be a place

​by Brad Goldstein


The last time I saw you, you were singing With laughter and a smile.
How appropriate that is
Music has been in your spirit
When your parents were giants
Songs followed you through the years And now you can sing the song of stars Dance in the parade of planets
Fair you well, See you later

(In Memory of Patria Bula - Musician, Friend)

The Light

Sometimes at night as I lay in bed, and listen to the cold night breeze

I notice a light flickering, in the distance through the trees

 I stare at the light and wonder, if it’s staring back at me

Are there other people watching, or am I the only one who can see

 I find myself transfixed, on the object that I glance

I find my eyes being mesmerized, as it puts me in its trance

 Why is it I choose this light, it’s not the brightest in the sky

In fact, it is quite dim and dull, but that’s not what catches my eye

It isn’t the biggest light in the entire field, yet I find I cannot look away, its mystery remains unrevealed

The stars in the sky are more numerous. They are a much prettier sight. Yet I still find myself staring, at that one poorly lonely lit light

The light is ever flickering; it’s death seems only fit
Yet I know I need not worry, for the light will always remain lit.

by Brad Goldstein 


Poetry and Essays from 9Muses Members

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