This Poem was Submitted By: Thomas Edward Wright On Date: 2010-02-26 12:17:35 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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To A Muse, Who

For the Thiasus (that is,  The Thiasus that is naught.) Odd, how Calliope and Urania  Sitting like sisters in some coffee house Colorfully attired, handsomely coiffed, Caparisoned like Clydesdales for some parade, Amuse one another with the idea that The whole â€˜Origins’ thing is so â€˜last week.’ I was reading this ridiculously Philosophical piece by one of the Most Respected Poets here at The Link, A piece that intimated some contradiction Of anti-thesis, an allegiance of sorts To the Dyonysian abortion,  An ekphrastic â€“ actually a weakling’s  Attempt at ejaculative humoring â€“  An idiomatic expletive Filling the Grecian’s Urn to its extensive Rim with a castigating diarrhea That leaves us searching for the Ephemora. Anyway, as I was pointing this out To one of my dearest â€“ there you go, girls â€“  Associates: Uranus is my favorite Place to â€˜library’ in the solar system: Out of this comes most of his good inklings. Heave Ho!  The Maenads bounce into view!

Copyright © February 2010 Thomas Edward Wright


This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2010-03-02 18:02:49
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Thomas, Some women got your dander up. I must say I used the dictionary often to figure this one out. A few things maybe to correct.. Dionysian instead of Dyonysian? Ecphractic instead of ekphrastic? I'll say no more. Dellena


This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Andrew Hislop On Date: 2010-02-28 14:51:55
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
TEW What happened, Heracles? Lose a drinking contest with Dionysus? I think I'll console myself with a nymph. Nymphs are SO last week. MAH
This Poem was Critiqued By: Mark Steven Scheffer On Date: 2010-02-26 16:23:43
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
TEW, Thiasus? Ephemora? And last, but not least, that Dionysian being without wine, the Dyonsian ekphrastic. Not only does my Shadow lengthen secondly, minutely, hourly, daily, weekly, fortnightly, monthly, yearly into the ever commodious past, but there's this plethora of little shadows that breed incessantly under my Shadow. This is quite scary, this menagerie. I think in another life I was a circus tent. Heave, Ho, heave, Ho. No more keggers for you. MSS
This Poem was Critiqued By: Terry A On Date: 2010-02-26 13:12:36
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
The Amazons would have stolen you for mating purposes, then kept you alive and well so you could sing to them around the campfires. Terry (my Muse told me that)
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