Ego
ambitious, exuberant
striving, contriving, worshipping
self, accomplishment, others, service
honouring, encouraging, inspiring
quiet, selfless
humility
(Remember writing a diamanté in school.  This one took me back to younger days, but I still like the way it evolves.)
This passion surfaces, rushes, boils inside me,
raging against the rocks of my conventionality,
demanding release, commanding my pen –
its voice a roar obstructing constraint –
insatiable creativity.
I should be back soon.
(Today’s prompt is to write a poetic prose in the form of a postcard.)
I need a sponge
all purpose
barely poetic
or a conduit to make sense of tunes
liberating articulation
familiar
contrived
warmed by night
untouched by honey
Locked images
accomplished phrases
written here
(Not sure this makes any sense but today’s challenge is to take a poem and respond to each line (separately and backwards) to create a new poem. Â This poem arises from the work of David Stones, “Upon This Page”, found in his book of poems: Â Infinite Sequels.
sometimes
when I write
I eat – it’s my way
of stopping
the emotions
from spewing
all over the page
sometimes
when I eat
and my emotions
are numbed
momentarily
my inspiration
dries up
pardon me
if I appear
a little neurotic
but I need
to find a solution
for this eating
writing problem
This is pen is far too vociferous,
illuminates the disabled rage,
dismissing my concerns, as if
outgoing messages are company
for its dispassionate agenda.
No privacy for ailing, sleeping,
I would physically eject the offending
appendage, but cannot bear reopening
of wounds, recognizing the sins are
mine, no matter how unintentional.
Words can be a trap, take on a beat
of their own, history rearing on page,
leaving me raw-nerved, reeling, their
thoughtlessness a venomous refusal
to remain a victim – I am inflamed.
How to banish the thoughts smouldering
like a cigarette, daring me to inhale,
choke on my own toxicity; I must expunge
the intrusion, recall this maddening vow
to create; withdraw to the safety of illness
shuttered away from the crowd, a blue
silence warming this frozen heart –
maybe, I’ll write a note and leave it
on the dashboard, command the pen
and its itinerary to leave me alone.
(Image: hellenmasido.wordpress.com)
Road behind is collapsing
remain upbeat, continue
a trail of childhood tears
practice giving, don’t falter
the past a faulty messenger
focus on beauty, facing forward
memories storm, threaten
Keep travelling, let go of concern
fears, like locusts, plague
work hard, be positive
anger rumbles, grows wings
be at peace, future brings promise
pain, ignorant of time, persists
rest awhile, open to possibility
the path is burning, consuming
passion seeks an outlet, a voice
broken parts craving protection
surrender to catharsis of creativity
(Image: Â cafepress.com)
Pummelling the roof
hardened droplets
drown out my thoughts
deafening, ridiculing
Nature’s curious
declaration of power
threatens, instructs
humility; a discordant
roar stifling creativity.
(Image: images.yourdictionary.com)
Favourite colour?
Black, says she
without hesitation;
I falter, stumble
mind reaching –
who likes black?
Is that a colour?
It’s all colours,
she’s nonchalant
intent on task –
carefully keeping
within the lines
Of course it is,
ill equipped am I
to disagree, images
of dark somber
corners, sorrow
and death crows –
Why black? ask I –
composure forced –
had anticipated pink
equate childhood
with primary shades
splotches of yellow
and rainbow skies
candy red apples
on lollipop trees
but black? no –
black obliterates,
negates, destroys
It holds the colour
inside, she explains;
It’s the outline.
Not annihilation –
order; her mind
conceives of order
so much to learn
from innocence
have long forgotten
the art of staying,
within lines, finding
good in all things.
(Image: www.siparent.com)
Nestled in with childhood truths –
second-hand, missing perspective –
nursing a creeping creativity:
insignificant clarity expanding
measurably, hurried.
Once social, now retreating
papered over failure, have fallen
frigid waves infiltrating, overtaking
chronically pained, over and over
contemplating flight, freedom
voiceless, expressionless, flat
even revelation muted, unmoving
boundaries, discussed, protective
currently crumbling…underestimated
the struggle, the pervasiveness
have considered a military approach
strident restrictions to nullify passions
but I am a weaver, open to uncovering
blessings in failure, employed in soaring,
grounded, yet questing, unsettled
disease is not a repellent for the mind,
objects conjure movement, creatures
undoubtedly defensive, renewal motivated
I am dank, moist, lacking burning passion
in this explosive personal nest.
Creativity –
eight-legged predator –
invades the decks
of my listing mind,
reproducing rapidly.
Her generous,
bejewelled appendages
skittering beneath
my plastic-boned
Caucasian frailty.
I hesitate –
friend or foe?
Should I trample
crush this invasion,
or surrender…
risk madness?
We are ocean –
bound, shoreless
prefer interior spaces
wary of open vistas
equally vulnerable
collapsible
Skittish
evaders
intent on
escape
future
uncertain…
I flee
creativity’s
lair – enter
into darker
passages
Destiny –
creativity’s cousin –
awaits, tail raised
in venomous arc –
dances a warning
does not
strike
body
glowing
phosphorus
green,
melts into
swirling,
flourescent
particles of
Kundalini
rising.
(Image: fineartamerica.com)
One Woman's Quest 