Trixie Poems | Examples

Trixie My Muse Keeps Me on the Edge of my Seat

her thoughts are mighty and marvelously influential to me.
I call her Trixie, my muse, she is truly the ultimate queen bee.
She won’t leave me alone, she’s like a dog with a hankering for duck.
How do you write so often? Other writers ask. Is it some kind of luck?

It is my muse, she is persnickety, tenacious and she must have her way.
She forces ten poems out of me every single solitary ordinary day.
If I want to sleep, she laughs me awake with a lovely ending line.
We don’t need any more rest she tells me, we will do just fine.

Her insistence and persistence keep me at the edge of my seat.
She wants a pen in my hand so often, I hardly have time to eat.
Trixie is my nemesis, but also my savior, she keeps me wild and free.
You see writing down my feelings is brilliantly therapeutic for me.

My Muse Trixie is one of a Kind

ideas don’t have time to percolate
Trixie yells them at me, this is my fate
Some of them are lame, not witty or great
Fearing Trixie’s wrath, I do not hesitate

As muses rank, she is truly first rate
her fantastic ideas we do not debate
she can create a poem from an apple crate
play dough, umbrellas, or a rusty grate

She does not want to hear what I have to say
Swiftly kicking my thoughts into a ditch all gray
Trixie is one of a kind, but always the boss.
If I did not have her, it would be such a loss.

My Muse Trixie Makes Fun of Me

my muse is plotting every inch of my time today
I try to escape but there is actually no way
on writing poetry and fiction, she is hardily keen
I cannot refuse Trixie, for she is insanely mean

no prepositions, she orders me in a stern way
But verbs and adverbs are okay, for they are merry and gay
On a pristine white page Trixie writes the rules down
She adds that I am a goof pot, a weirdy cat and a clown.

I would like to escape Trixie, but she’s solidly in my head.
She plants ideas in my imagination while I’m in bed.
Hey, Trixie, don’t you have an uncle or cousin to go see?
She laughs at my anguish, making more fun of me.

Trixie ignores my refusal to write

I won’t write, I tell my muse. I refuse.
She laughs at my won'ts, my cant's and my do’s.
Most know Trixie; she brazenly dictates to me.
She is puling my strings, never letting me be.

I’m serious, I say. She laughs at my plight.
She forces me to stay awake most of the night.
Magnificent poems climb into my head.
Trixie will tell me when I can go to bed.

Afraid of Trixie My Muse

Yesterday I sat down to do a bit of reading, light
Trixie, my muse said you are causing me a blight
All she ever wants to do is paint, cartoon or write
I knew I could cause an enormous artistic fight

I put my fingers out of my muse’s persnickety sight
afraid of her sword and willingness to maim or smite
She gets angry at the tiniest irritation or slight
Truthfully, Trixie often gives me more than a tiny fright

My fingers were crossed until they turned almost white
I am not saying her ideas are not sound or bright
But she seems to get her own way, afternoon, day and night
even when I stand up to her with my five-foot two full height

If she were a maiden and I was a ferocious knight
I might have a say or a tiny bit of power or might
but she is meticulous and mean for a tiny muse, a mite
So, I quickly say my piece, and then let my legs take flight.

Trixie is Annoyingly Persistent

There are many things I would rather do
Trixie, my muse is tapping me like a tattoo artist’s needle
She is annoyingly insistent, brazen and persistent
I decide to ignore her; I have other hobbies

The poem she wants to write floats in the air of my art studio
I throw fluorescent orange paint onto a canvas and ignore her
She sends a wasp that lands on the paint
This is maddening

another line of her poem shouts in my ear
I cannot fight Trixie any longer
I put down my brush and pick up a pen

Fountain Pen Versus my Muse Trixie

The fountain pen ran off giggling and lost his pants
Leaving a string of letters, none of them seemed by chance
How dare he think he can write? Said my non-amused muse
angry enough to give him some really mean reviews

He’s just a pen, a one-trick pony!
Blue and plastic, common, bony!

The pen came back to hear my thoughts
I’ve always wanted to write, my heart in knots
It’s a pretty good poem I told the fountain pen.
Muse Trixie was furious and nasty, hateful once again.

Trixie tries to get me to write

My muse Trixie does a cartwheel into the hallway
I am not amused; pretend I have not noticed.
She throws a blue elephant into my toaster at breakfast.
He hits me with his trunk on the way out.
I act like this is normal.
She walks through the livingroom riding on the head of a lion
She is whistling a bawdy song that would have my husband blush.
If he could hear her.
Luckily, he can’t.
A large green spaceship comes crashing down through my roof.
I give Trixie my mean side eye glance.
My dogs follow her as she skips down the hall.
They are barking their heads off.
What is that about? My husband asks.
He looks annoyed.
I give in and pick up my pen.
Trixie 1
Me 0

Trixie Wants to Write Poetry

meet my muse Trixie.
I want to draw.
she wants to play in the Thesaurus.
Trixie is a freebooter, marauder, pirate, she plans to win.

I sketch a monkey, elephant and acrobat.
I am in circus mode.
Trixie slams her green eyes over the big book.
she is persnickety, determined, and forceful.

fat blue Thesaurus is a harpy; she flips open.
I stare at these words - deaden, anesthetized, stupefy.
write them down! Trixie demands.
she is more trouble than a gewgaw, trinket or knickknack.

I avert my eyes, not wanting to play with words
now drawing a circus tent, and a popcorn box.
red and white striped popcorn box has arms and legs.
he sticks out his tongue in maniacal cartoon laughter.

Trixie flips some pages of this dreaded book.
gleaming, sparkling, glistening stand out.
magnify, enlarge and amplify bite me on the left arm.
I am not writing right now! I tell her.

she sticks out her tongue.
eager to work on a magnum opus, creative masterpiece.
I can hardly work on the giraffe.
curious I am to read words where she is pointing

lionize, glorify, elevate
vanish, disappear, dissolve
I begin drawing a lion, trying to break my muse's spell.

Trixie My Irish Muse

with gorgeous ginger hair and Celtic eyes
She comes to shake me, make me rise
my muse is Trixie, persistent and keen
she gives me words in my dream sheen

Trixie Belden Books

Trixie Belden was a marvelous book find for me.
She was a blonde dynamo with Encyclopedia Brown’s talent
For finding, following, and solving mysteries
delightfully female with Honey, her sidekick best friend.

Encyclopedia Brown had not been penned yet anyway.
I remember paying three dollars for each Trixie Belden book.
It was my allowance for the week if I ironed, dusted, gardened,
watched my brother, swept, cleaned the pantry, etcetera

we were not handed things for free in the sixties
We had to earn them.
Trixie Belden was worth every penny
I think I appreciated her more because I had to earn her

Trixie My Muse Wants To Play

It is three a.m.
The witching hour.
Trixie, my muse wants to play, do I want to sleep?
It does not matter.
My muse has me by the shortest nerves.
She is not letting me go either.
She loves to look up new words.
To sit with a Thesaurus in my lap.
To flip through and write down our favorite words.
To check and see if you can add an "ly" to this word and that word.
Trixie controls my mind.
They both want to play.
We work tomorrow.one of the under-bosses of my mind whispers.
We have to get up in two and a half hours.
Do we want to sleep?
It matters not.
Trixie rules me, especially at the witching hour.
I reach for the Thesaurus.

My Elusive Muse Trixie

Trixie has disappeared, tired of writing mushroom poems I guess.
Come out, I say. I cannot pen missives without her, I confess.
She has left me in a bind, in the dust, in a totally bereft mess.
I will do whatever you want I say, casually meaning more or less.

Trixie pops up long enough to suggest Coleridge, she has nerve!
I am not an Old Master; Trixie is vim, sass, vigor, zing and verve!
Okay, what about Poe? She says, the only thing is, he was a perve.
I pussyfoot around her next suggestion as she rounds a curve.

Trixie is very much in charge of what I do, write or say.
She can make or break me with my words every single day.
I do not know how she got the reigns of my pen so dapple gray.
But she is the one I turn to if I want my words to sway.

So I promise her the moon, rice krispie treats and other gooey things.
She is slapping a tambourine, and deems herself one of the kings.
I give her all the credit, for I have learned lessons the hardest way.
And in order to write poetry I need Trixie my muse back today!

Trixie Wants To Write Poetry

meet my muse Trixie.
I want to draw.
she wants to play in the Thesaurus.
Trixie is a freebooter, marauder, pirate, she plans to win.

I sketch a monkey, elephant and acrobat.
I am in circus mode.
Trixie slams her green eyes over the big book.
she is persnickety, determined, and forceful.

fat blue Thesaurus is a harpy; she flips open.
I stare at these words - deaden, anesthetized, stupefy.
write them down! Trixie demands.
she is more trouble than a gewgaw, trinket or knickknack.

I avert my eyes, not wanting to play with words
now drawing a circus tent, and a popcorn box.
red and white striped popcorn box has arms and legs.
he sticks out his tongue in maniacal cartoon laughter.

Trixie flips some pages of this dreaded book.
gleaming, sparkling, glistening stand out.
magnify, enlarge and amplify bite me on the left arm.
I am not writing right now! I tell her.

she sticks out her tongue.
eager to work on a magnum opus, creative masterpiece.
I can hardly work on the giraffe.
curious I am to read words where she is pointing

lionize, glorify, elevate
vanish, disappear, dissolve
I begin drawing a lion, trying to break my muse's spell.

Muse Leroy Meets Muse Trixie

His muse was a dragon, and he told me Leroy was pushy.
I could not imagine he was any more challenging that Trixie.
Leroy will take me down and spit in my eye, he told me.
This was a bit more aggressive than Trixie, actually.

I brought Trixie over to meet Leroy, but he was shy.
He is not acting normally, admitted my super poetic guy.
I gave them some space, and he asked his muse why.
Because she intimidates me, Leroy said with a sigh.

Trixie was telepathic and had sent him some news.
It was meant to intimidate, consternate and confuse.
He was scared of her now, afraid of my aggressive muse.
Now more than one more person has seen Trixie’s fuse.

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