Friday, January 1, 2010

55 Flash Fiction Friday


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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.

9 comments:

  1. aaah, it's too early in the year to be thinking, heee hee heeee. happy new year to you dianne!

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  2. What 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?

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  3. Crazy Rambling Girl
    Spewer of Awesome Passion
    Fabulous Indeed!!!

    (Happy New Year Di)

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  4. 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.

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  5. Great 55. And Happy New Year! :-)

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  6. Happy New Year 2010 from Tokyo.
    I have enjoyed your delicate poem.
    Thank you for sharing.

    sakuo.

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  7. 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.

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  8. One day I am going to have to get into this.

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  9. The muse, she is elusive. This one seems to get distracted readily.

    (Happy New Year!)
    xo
    erin

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