Trixie Poems - Poems about Trixie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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,

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

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

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

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

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