Only five more poems to go! And the Kiwi contingent are soldiering on magnificently (which is an unintentionally apt metaphor, yesterday being Anzac Day).
- Catherine has been putting a villanelle through its paces, and contemplating the use of a circus ringmaster in parliament;
- Marisa has been watching birds, offering flowers and thinking about thermals;
- Greg has been channelling Roger McGough and examining poetry from both sides;
- and Kay has contemplated concrete dinosaurs, green cars, and the dark sound of oars.
How are you feeling, guys? Strugggling, or did you managed to get the muse chained in a dungeon somewhere (or possibly reclining on perfumed pillows, being fed peeled grapes in a room with no clock and no calendar)?
A Dark Feathered Art 
Good question … Ummm … you know I hadn’t even given my muse a thought until you mentioned it (I am woefully neglectful of my muse …). I think perhaps my muse is as tired of poetry as I am at this point. But maybe both of us can work something out together … I’ll go peel a grape.
Gotta be worth a try.
😉
The muse has steadfastly remained by my side. A wall between me and many of the daily drudgeries of life. Thus my dining table is piled high with clean, but unfolded laundry. My studio is woefully untidy. I could do with a manicure. The return to ‘normal’ life will be a shock.
Have to say – unfolded laundry, piles of stuff, general untidiness – you mean that isn’t normal for other people ‽
(runs to living room to begin sorting mountain of unfolded laundry …)
(runs back in fear of imminent avalanche of unwashed laundry …)