Writing Club: Women of the Moose

For our very first writing club ever, we decided to all write a short piece under the same title. Let me describe writing club to you who have never had the pleasure of being there: first, people come over and we all set up our laptops and/or paper/pens. Then we sit and talk/eat/whatever for several minutes/hours, until someone finally says, "Okay, so, what are we gonna do tonight?" And then we spend a few minutes picking out our prompt from a list we generated during our first meeting. Then, after we have the prompt, we have about 20-30 minutes on average to write to our hearts' content. Then, we share our stories aloud and laugh at each other a lot. It's SO much fun. I wish everyone could do it. I wish we had started it earlier. Since I LOVE to write but haven't had a lot of time since starting school again to really get into it, it's nice to keep in touch with my "muse" once a week or so and keep those creative juices flowing. It's also wonderful to share in the joy of creation with several close friends who enjoy it at least as much as I do.

SO. Here's my "Women of the Moose."

As nighttime’s fog slinks o’er your mind
And wildest dreams let loose,
That is the place each night I find
The women of the moose.

At first a thunderous voice proclaims
So bold it must be Zeus,
“Halt, maiden, and behold my treasured
Women of the Moose!”

I stammer out a spittle sound,
Myself to introduce,
But does he care? Oh, no! He has his
Women of the Moose.

First one of them, her eyes too old
And speech small from disuse,
Approaches me, eyelashes thick,
As all women of the moose

Look on with wary wonderment
At the impending truce.
“Come, follow,” she says simply, and
The women of the moose

Lead me along a river’s bend;
I hear the babbling juice
Of mother earth sing back to these
Fair women of the moose.

I’d run away, but where’d I go?
I find no good excuse,
So follow on in silence, trusting
Women of the moose.

A cave we enter, black as fear,
Designed for a recluse.
Then in the shadows fire lights
And women of the moose

Start dancing fiery ‘round the thing,
And sultry calls produce.
I wonder at their gall and grit,
These women of the moose.

Their shoulders boulders, legs trimmed thin,
Their eyes a watery noose,
I am entranced by their display
As women of the moose.

And all around the forest now
I feel the earth seduced
And sky bewitched in unnatural trance
Called Women of the Moose.

When in their midst I see him rise,
A glorious beast called Bruce,
And tentatively smile do I,
While women of the moose

Bow down devotion, purpose veiled,
But from what I can deduce
I think that Bruce’s harem is
The women of the moose.

And why it is I dream of them
Each night, my mind’s abuse,
Perhaps I’ll tell when I become
Head Woman of the Moose.