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Welcome to the seattle muse. We provide resources that enhance the poet's (and writer's) craft. And almost everything offered is free! The expense of time and effort is supported through donations and minimal advertising. Authors who place their books for sale on our site are charged only a small handling fee.

We feature over 200 links to various resources, separated into categories for easier navigation. You will find many of these resources on the literary links page. On the opportunities page we offer links to job opportunities for writers; some are freelance opportunities, while others are positions advertised. Of course, there's an events page informing writers (and readers) of poetry events ranging from open mics to venues featuring well known writers.

However, we feel our best feature is found on the new submissions page. This is where you will find your poetry, especially if you are an unpublished and newer poet. If you would like to submit a poem to our site, follow the instructions on that page. One note: all poetry submitted will published at the sole discretion of the seattle muse.

the seattle muse is a work in progress. We add new links frequently as we discover new sites of interest and value. Your input is appreciated. If you have a suggestion, a favorite site you wish to share, or find a link that doesn't work, please drop us a line at info@theseattlemuse.com. We hope you enjoy your visit to the seattle muse.

Wheelchair

I have
become an observant
creature. Through the
window of this
coffee shop I see
this guy, about my
age. My size. Hair’s
going a little gray.
Like mine.

Comes flying by in a
wheelchair. Right out in
the middle of the street like he doesn’t
give a good goddamn. My kind
of guy. I mean, Jesus, he’s moving
like it’s his last day. I know
what that feels
like.

Anyone can see he’s used
it for a long time. The
wheelchair.
It fits him like
he was born in it. For all
I know he was. Yeah, life
hasn’t been too
kind to him. Well, I’ve
sung that song for some
time now.

He comes
to a stop next
to an old Chevy truck,
like the one I had,
opens the door,
pulls himself in,
and the chair after
him. Drives off.
It occurs to me that he
and I are a lot
alike.

Only difference is I’m
crippled.