Our muses have never crossed paths,
as far as we know.
Hers speaks fluent French,
and makes love to feral cats.
Mine chews tobacco,
spits with a deadly aim, and
is a connoisseur of fried dill pickles.
They’re hard working creatures,
both in their own unique way:
Haiku, Tanka, and poems of the heart;
rambling free verse,
leaving Redman stains on the keys.
It would be criminal
to allow them out in polite society;
the internet has been the perfect venue
to extract beauty from the beasts.
(all rights reserved Pat Paulk 2005)
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6 comments:
If you're going to bring up sensitive subjects, Pat, I guess I'm going to have to pull out my stolen muse poems.......AND IT WON'T BE PRETTY.:)
You shouldn't try and steal someone else's muse!!!
DITTO.
Nor should one's muse entice the other muse's to waste an entire Wednesday afternoon when deadline looms.....Guess what's getting posted next on the LW?:)
I give up?
I'll put it up later today - Run Away Muse I
I like swooning! Thanks Rebecca!
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