Trixie Poems - Poems about Trixie

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...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

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,...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...

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...

Continue reading...