poetry meaning

When I Met My Muse ~ A Poem by William Stafford

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Meeting the Muse: A Reflection on William Stafford’s Vision

What if inspiration isn’t something you find—but something you allow to live with you?

When I Met My Muse

William Stafford

I glanced at her and took my glasses
off—they were still singing. They buzzed
like a locust on the coffee table and then
ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the
sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and
knew that nails up there took a new grip
on whatever they touched. “I am your own
way of looking at things,” she said. “When
you allow me to live with you, every
glance at the world around you will be
a sort of salvation.” And I took her hand.

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Reflection

William Stafford captures inspiration not as something external we chase, but as a way of seeing we choose to welcome. The muse arrives quietly, bending light, shifting angles, and changing how the world holds together. When we allow this deeper way of looking to live with us, ordinary moments become luminous. Creativity, Stafford suggests, is not escape but salvation—a steady attentiveness that transforms perception itself. To take the muse’s hand is to commit to seeing more clearly, more gently, and more truthfully. Art begins when we trust this inner voice and let it guide how we meet the world, one glance at a time.

As you read this poem, ask yourself:

What way of seeing has quietly saved you—and are you allowing it to stay?

Praise ~ A Poem by R. S. Thomas

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Praise as Prayer: Finding Wonder in R.S. Thomas’s Poem of Creation

Discover how R.S. Thomas transforms everyday moments — light, rain, spring — into a divine language that invites us to see our lives as sacred.

Praise

R. S. Thomas

I praise you because
you are artist and scientist
in one. When I am somewhat
fearful of your power,
your ability to work miracles
with a set-square, I hear
you murmuring to yourself
in a notation Beethoven
dreamed of but never achieved.
You run off your scales of
rain water and sea water, play
the chords of the morning
and evening light, sculpture
with shadow, join together leaf
by leaf, when spring
comes, the stanzas of
an immense poem. You speak
all languages and none,
answering our most complex
prayers with the simplicity
of a flower, confronting
us, when we would domesticate you
to our uses, with the rioting
viruses under our lens.

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Reflection

This poem invites us to pause before the vast, intricate artistry of existence itself. R.S. Thomas reminds us that what we often try to control or explain with logic is, in reality, sacred mystery. Here, creation is both precision and poetry — rainwater becomes scales, light becomes chords, and spring becomes a stanza. The poem asks us to surrender the need to “domesticate” life and instead stand in awe before its wildness. When we honor what we cannot fully understand, we open our hearts to wonder, humility, and gratitude.

As you read this poem, ask yourself:

Where in your life do you need to let go of control and simply marvel at the miracle unfolding before you?

The Treasure ~ A Poem by Rupert Brooke

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The Golden Space Within: Discovering Life’s Hidden Treasures

Even when the day closes, beauty lingers—waiting for us to rediscover it.

The Treasure

Rupert Brooke

When colour goes home into the eyes,
And lights that shine are shut again
With dancing girls and sweet birds’ cries
Behind the gateways of the brain;
And that no-place which gave them birth, shall close
The rainbow and the rose: —

Still may Time hold some golden space
Where I’ll unpack that scented store
Of song and flower and sky and face,
And count, and touch, and turn them o’er,
Musing upon them; as a mother, who
Has watched her children all the rich day through
Sits, quiet-handed, in the fading light,
When children sleep, ere night.

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Reflection

Rupert Brooke’s “The Treasure” invites us to consider the quiet vault within us where every beautiful moment is stored. Even when colors fade and the world darkens into evening, our inner life remains lit by memories of joy, love, and wonder. The poem suggests that nothing truly good is ever lost—every smile, sunrise, song, and tender face becomes part of a “golden space” inside us. Brooke’s closing image of a mother resting after a full day reminds us that reflection is not withdrawal; it is gratitude. When we pause long enough to revisit our inner treasures, we realize how rich our lives already are. These stored moments don’t simply comfort us—they shape us, gently reminding us who we are and what truly matters.

Reader Question

What “hidden treasure” from your own life do you find yourself returning to when the world grows quiet?

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