1. The Poet and his Muse


    Date: 10/24/2015, Categories: Love Stories, Author: Sisyphus, Rating: 6, Source: LushStories

    to see any of the new poems you’ve been working on? I think that would be of interest.” “I guess so. I mean, I have a lot of poems no one has read. I’d like you to read them. I’ve been writing mostly sonnets lately, but I’m not sure it will help with your thesis since your focus is on the origin of my imagery and what you called my 'suppressed romanticism.’” “I think using your recent work will be sensational. I think it will be revealing and reflect on your earlier work, you know, the journey theme.” She scrunched her eyebrows as if pondering a question she wanted to ask. “Why haven’t you tried getting your new poems published?” “I've tried a few times, but I kept getting rejections, mostly form letters saying thank you, this is not for us, some not even signed. Occasionally, I received a few written notes from editors I knew a long time ago--polite, friendly rejections. I’m just out of fashion now, but maybe that will change. I don’t know, meanwhile, I just keep writing.” “That must be so hard for you. I mean, you were famous. You won the Yale Younger Poets prize when you were twenty-three and then the Pulitzer and The National Critics Award and they had a special on PBS with you being interviewed by Charlie Rose and George Plimpton interviewed you for Paris Review and now you can’t get published.” “The important thing, Allison, is to keep writing no matter what. Maybe I will be rediscovered who knows. It’s all fucking luck. Fame is fleeting. I have a line in a poem, ...
    ‘Beware of fame, for she’s a whore who will break your heart.’ ” “Wow! What a great line.” Allison's enthusiastic response, her sparkling blue eyes, the way the sun shown on her dark hair made it glow as she leaned back against the desk causing her breasts to press against her turtleneck shirt. A sudden desire to hold her in his arms swept over him, but he squashed that impulse and instead, walked towards the other room. “Well, I’ll let you be.” He turned and walked to the doorway separating the two rooms. “I’m going to get back to work. I’ll see you later.” “Right and I promise I won’t bother you. I have plenty to do. I’ll get myself settled. I might have to come and fill up my water container, but you won’t even know I’m here. I’ll see you later and remember I’m going to make you a great dinner.” Jason stood at the door he usually kept open, but now thought it best to shut so that his concentration would not be disturbed. He knew how sensitive he was to sounds when he was writing. Allison made a small goodbye gesture by opening and closing her fingers, “Thanks again for letting me stay. I’m really happy to be here.” “Good.” He smiled, touched by the sincere, innocent, almost childlike way she said how happy she was and the childlike way she opened and closed her small fingers as she said goodbye. He almost said, “I'm glad you're here too,” but swallowed the words, denying the warm, tender feeling that swept over him. “Make yourself comfortable and I'll see you later.” After ...
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