Tag Archives: creative writing

My Mode of Living

I’m free of rain.

I show my picture to the blank mirror.

I was not busy in my shiny days

and now I see

clouds of apologies ahead,

burning bronze.

 

My shape shifting selfishness

Folded into a skin box,

Origami.

 

My life was born for a while,

between sameness and joy.

 

Ten times I memorize myself,

candy candle

I have to light,

To guide kaleidoscope perception

Back home to me.

 

Interdependence is difficult and soft,

ad infinitum.

Nervous to Dive In

Today is the first day of the goal I set yesterday – to write my poetry every day. I have not yet written anything new, although I am revising some poetry I have already written.

For some reason, I am afraid to dive in. My mind is sort of ducking in and out of my emotions like a rock skipping over water. If I dive too deeply, I may not come up.

On some level, I’m afraid of my mind. I don’t write confessional poetry, so it is not as though I’ll be diving into personal problems and emotions in a direct way if I begin writing a poem. But I get into this space, this cold silky space, when I write and sometimes I just slide deeper and deeper into solitude once I start. This can feel rejuvenating, but I am on the border mentally right now and if I slide too far below the water I don’t know what will be waiting for me there.

I have to push forward. I’ve set a goal, and that goal must be accomplished. I can’t just give up, especially on the first day. It might be cold, but I need to sink down and scrape the images from the coral crusted bed of my head.

Union

Seeing is cataclysmic.
Hearing has rendered me mute as a portrait.
Beauty’s pelerine flows behind
my shoulder,
and the gift of slender hands
unties the bow,
to get to the realness of me.

I once made a mop from my hair.
Now it has grown back,
glossy but hollow.

In my nutrient dense curves
(where does a curve belong?
everywhere wrapped like
legs around a lover)
she licks lightly.

Mathematics and Art

Moving faster than math,

I ride the train to the city.

 

Lines, gradations, numbers.

 

So many nice colors,

Cool chaos,

The air slick with liquid nitrogen.

 

An ornament,

My education dangles

from the tree in city center.

In the reservoir,

My distilled ambition eddying.

Through the equation of church bells,

A garland of neon loss.

 

Which sun is silent, low?

The near one that blinds

Or the farther that fries?

 

In a clear city,

rumors

give you an inert art.

Air

In the smudged silos,
a slipshod grain hungry and unfilling.

The fields here do not even
feed their own.

On the crotchety mountain,
emigres weave stories of
the old cruelty of the thin, dry air,
new cruelty of elevated antiseptic oxygen.

Between a one and a two,
a child is born with four feet.

The cry of a lone lantern in
the nefarious night.

Time

In a journal in well written white,
the presupposition of posies,
the assumption of risk.

Beyond books,
cinders drift lonely through cities
too hot to feel their burn.
All that dust
that pushes pavement forward
to an unforeseeable finale is from
dust to dust

in a fourth world, my mother
cooks salmon on a simulated Saturday.

On a Sunday superimposed on the
wall of my one thousandth year,
my daughter wears sapphires,
asks me for a pond.

Age burrows in me like a tick.
I will write it away.

I Need a Kindred Soul

I need a friend. I have friends, a few at least. And I love them. But what I wish I had was one more friend, a friend who likes phone photography or writing poetry or taking still lifes or journaling or painting or collage. A friend I can do creative challenges with, or even start a separate blog with to post collaborative work or stuff that follows the same sort of theme or concept.

I think that working with someone and bouncing ideas off each other would make my creativity stronger. I would certainly love the companionship and having someone to talk to about creativity, either written or visual. It would be fun if we were doing the same thing, but it would be equally great if we were doing two different creative things and just talking about them with each other, and giving each other suggestions and keeping each other posted with our progress.

I feel like I run on and on about poetry and other artsy things to friends that aren’t interested in them. And no one wants to be the person in the room who talks for an hour about something no one else in the room is interested in! But it’s hard when almost no one is interested in something that you really love.

So many creatives throughout history have been shaped by other creatives that they were friends with. I would love to have someone like that in my life and I would love to be that someone for another person.

I am not an amazing artist or photographer, but I really like designing images. I wish there was someone I could talk about it with. Maybe we could inspire and challenge each other. Perhaps we could give each other ideas outside of one another’s usual subject matter or mode of creating in order to sharpen one another’s senses. Why not try mixed media? Or instant film and toy cameras? Or ekphrastic poetry based on one another’s photographs? Book binding? Incorporating ephemera into our art?

Blogging helps me work some of my Creative Energy out. Blogging is extremely important to me. But maybe through my blog I will make a serendipitous discovery of a kindred soul who might want to be an angel in my life and let me be an angel in theirs.

This is probably a long shot, but maybe someday somebody will find this post and a beautiful friendship will spark. I know it’s unlikely, but it’s always worth a try. If nothing comes of it, my life will continue in much the same way and I will not have lost anything. And I have a good life. But if I do find that kindred soul, how happy I will be! If I don’t open my doors no one will know that they are welcomed into my life.

Iron sharpens iron, and friends are priceless. Is anyone out there? Hello….Hello……

My Poetry Journal

The book I am currently writing my poetry in. I have written about 70 poems inside. I like filling books with creative writing. It is a way to measure the productivity of my creative life. Selecting beautiful journals makes my soul sing and my mind tingle, so it is also fun to amass gorgeous journals. I actually have several journals already and I use most of them for daily logs and Diaries. This is the first time in a long time that I have been handwriting my poetry. It seems to affect my mind differently than typing my poems. Typing poems is great because you can do it on the go. Where ever you have your phone you’re all set. For several years now I have typed all of my poetry on my phone. I seldom work on the computer. What I need to start doing is bringing my poetry book with me in my knapsack purse so that I can write hand written poetry on the go as well.

As the book starts filling up my husband types up my poems for me. Then I begin to revise them and post them. Then I do Some experiments with them.