Michael Turner’s poem You appeared here in October. This poem serves to remind us that returning to our creative task, particularly with holiday festivities still swirling, can be daunting and unfruitful. Time to woo the Muse!
My Muse
By Michael Turner
My muse will not come when I call her.
She won’t dance with me when I want.
Her tresses occasionally thrill me
like spider walks hidden from light.
Frequently she drops by to tease me
and toss me bouquets of delight.
She whispers wild wicked words,
while hiding just out of my sight.
Sometimes she comes just to hold me,
and sometimes she stays for the night.
Sounds like you have a naughty muse. Great write.
I love the simplicity of this poem, and the elusive ways of the Muse that you capture so well, Michael. The last two lines are especially captivating