J. L. Ralston

Ralston, muses about the muse who graces her with her presence. It truly is amazing where we can find the muse, if we just open our eyes and look.

My muse is not mainstream nor is she predictable.
She doesn't tolerate fools or indecisiveness.
Her life is not anchored down and she clings to her backpack 'just in case '.
She won't shop at the Reject Shop or dine at 'all you can eat for $10' restaurants.
Her style is not flashy but subtle and classy.
Idleness annoys her yet she whole-heartedly indulges in anything which is playful, relaxing or meditative.
Her friends are not accountants, real estate agents or politicians.
They're artists, musicians, writers and dreamers.
Her lovers are not around long enough for her to grow weary.
She is not frightened by the flow of life or the challenges that hit her head on.
Nor is she daunted by the rash and cruel opinions of others.
My Muse is not capable of just accepting her lot. She's not a wallflower.
She's sassy, sultry and robust. She doesn't mind if people see her pain or tears.
She's at home with kings and queens and equally with paupers.
My Muse is not going. Nor is she coming.
She is not here.
Or there.
She's wherever.
She's not to be found in trashy tabloids or gossip mags.
She's not available to just anyone. Not there to be shared .
She's was created by me. For me.

She's the wilful Jo March from Little Women; the lovely Lisa from Adventure Island.
She's as gutsy as Susan Sarandon and can sing like Edith Piaf.
She's a feminist like Germaine; a Doris Day on acid.
She loves like Scarlett O'Hara and is as tragic as Anna Karenin.
She can work up a sweat like Jane Fonda yet sip champagne as elegantly as Grace Kelly.
She's a believer like Joan of Arc and dances like Ginger Rogers.
She's as much fun as Mary Poppins and can make you as happy as Pollyanna.
She cooks like the Two Fat Ladies and tends to her garden as though she were Eve.