Where have all the muses gone
from loins
thighs
fingers
and sighs?
Stuck to the bottom of a
sticky oatmeal pot,
slab-hard meat locker,
stale smoke stairwell,
slimy greasy griddle,
slicing queasy toothache,
Sangria bottle drunk half down
no end in sight?
Grinning at the moon,
blue and ringed round by rainbows,
she returns a swoon.
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All rights reserved.
aaah, it's too early in the year to be thinking, heee hee heeee. happy new year to you dianne!
ReplyDeleteWhat is it about creative thought that makes it disappear when you look for it then appears when you are contemplating the dirty dishes, bad teeth and the wine bottle?
ReplyDeleteCrazy Rambling Girl
ReplyDeleteSpewer of Awesome Passion
Fabulous Indeed!!!
(Happy New Year Di)
I relate to this. I've had my muse stuck to the bottom of a sticky oatmeal pot, and then had it rekindled by the moon. Happy New Year, my friend. I loved our walk yesterday. May we do it again, at your house this time.
ReplyDeleteGreat 55. And Happy New Year! :-)
ReplyDeleteHappy New Year 2010 from Tokyo.
ReplyDeleteI have enjoyed your delicate poem.
Thank you for sharing.
sakuo.
Such powerful images here, Dianne. I read all your poems but can only comment on a few. You seem to go from strength to strength.
ReplyDeleteOne day I am going to have to get into this.
ReplyDeleteThe muse, she is elusive. This one seems to get distracted readily.
ReplyDelete(Happy New Year!)
xo
erin