Trixie Poems - Poems about 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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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,...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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Framp town graces ring a wrong Rooh Dah Roo Dah Gramp down laces sling a thong Oh Roo Rah Ray! My eyes pop open I am disoriented I stumble My knee hits a chair It twirls Finally reach the door Hear Trixie my muse laugh She loves waking me up...

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So many possibilities parade up and down the perimeter of the page. Some wiggle their petootsies at me; one sticks out her tongue. Being super confident, adorable, and quietly intrusive is the rage. The word LUCKY gives me an Eskimo kiss, making me feel young. Lucky what? My muse asks, as she lies on the edge polishing a nail. She...

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Curious cats and plebian pirates do not mix well. When white skull and crossbones are flying lopsided. Derelict dogs and wily witches try casting a spell. My imagination is being ridiculously overexcited. My muse is throwing in damsels, dragons and robins gray Along with Christmas tree ants and squirrels that play I hear her deep heartfelt languishing sighs of...

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One is on her way. I watch her glide by, as if she is a professional skater. She does not glance my way. You missed her! Trixie hisses. Trixie is my muse. Her hazel eyes are flashing. I sense she is angry with me. I will get the next one, I assure her. But there is a distraction. The next idea slides...

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Trixie is in a mood for faerie poems today. I keep saying “no more” but here they come. She ignores my please, I am nobody believe me. There is no reprieve for she is the Trixie. On days when I am out of juice, She revives me at the ready. I have no ability to refuse. My pen and she are...

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Trixie had never been a teenager before her birthday She had no idea which finger to flick or which toe to wiggle Her godmother said “You’ll figure it out in your own way “ She gave her some faerie juice, just a tiny jiggle. Trixie’s parents said no matter what you decide, We know you will make woodland creatures joyful...

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