Monthly Muse

To make the Loose Muse website a true reflection of the spirit of the event itself, each month there will be a poem, story, or some other example of women’s writing going on the Monthly Muse page. I will choose something from the women writers attending Loose Muse each month to be highlighted on this page.

This month it’s my turn, yours truly, Agnes Meadows.


(For Oystein and Harald Christian in Oslo, September 2012)

We arrive to a discontented sky, cloud-heavy and bruised,
A tempest hammering over us, Old Man Thor still throwing his
Weight around, so that streets grew dark, pock-marked with the
Silver artillery of rainfall.  And for a moment we were lost in
The rage of it, the sheer ferocity of primal greeting, breathless in
The anticipation of adventure, swimming through the ocean of pines
Spread out in every direction, restless as wave-rush, wondered if
There were wolves still blinking red-eyed and slavering amongst
The oil-dark bracken, smiled at the feral memory stirred to life
At the sight of so many trees, the scent of ‘other-ness’, the breath
Of ‘creature’ in our mouths, waiting, inhuman, to eat our words.
Quickly spent, the storm fled, brooding and brash, fled to a
Horizon beaded already with sunlight, skies become shining,
Blue as flax flowers, the leaves not quite ready for autumn fidgeting
Upon each branch, air grown suddenly warm with the last breath
Of summer, slipping from pavement to doorway, down the cascade
Of city steps, like a young girl skipping lightly and in love.


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