Lust For Words

I am never free from this urge to create. I wake up everyday, eager to make something known to the blanks spaces around me. My old notebook with its broken spine is often my first victim, the pages on my laptop the second, the third is the open stretch of air I rarely get a chance to color with my thoughts.

I made a promise to make the worth of my word valuable again. This is my pilgrimage back from obscurity. I thought that if I wrote a few sentences down, the magic would reappear. The magic hasn’t quite returned to me, though it always lingers in memory. These new words are very different to the ones I remember. They aren’t as heavy as the words that I colored into my older portraits. I have hope in these new words, they are whispers of a passion resurfacing. They haven’t learned to find there bodies yet, they lose themselves in the air around too easily, they will grow into there wings, again I will paint pictures I can share with you.

I lost myself in every “what if” I conjured up. Each one made it easy for me not to write that day, made it easy for me to be quiet, to refrain from singing my crooked song of spoken words. I cant allow myself those excuses any more.I am not the young man I was back then, this is more than enough reason to make a riot of the quiet months, find my voice again on this stream of consciousness. There is always a story tell.

 

 

Writing 201, Assignment 4: Concrete Poem

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Writing 201 has added a dash of heartache to the days feast of poetic prompts, devices and forms. Day Four has requested a Concrete poem, based on the prompt “Animal” utilising enjambment.

I wake up every morning excited to read the days assignment, I look forward to  toying with ideas for the piece in the spare moments the day provides. I found myself lost in panic today, every time I turned to planning my contribution mind froze. Fortunately all things come to an end, the panic ran its course. It faded away to a whispers and gifted me some peace of mind and a slither of time to fumble a piece into existence, a freewrite. Bravo to the folks at The Daily Post, today was truly a challenge. I had no idea how to share the image, I am not the most technologically competent person, so here is a screenshot of the finished product.Today I was truly tested! Enjoy

Concrete 2

 

 

 

 

 

Writing 101 – Day One: Unlock the Mind

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I’ve abandoned the idea of the perfect voice, this perfect stream of words to paint jaw dropping and heart stealing prose. Writing 101 you have fed me the perfect excuse to just write, write, write. I know this is the second time this chance has been shared, but last time i was … forgetful, i was resentful of the products that might come from just tapping away at the keys and maybe on an off chance unraveling some goldish hue in the plain letters on the screen. Task one seemed like a no brainer, so this time there were no real barriers to tap tap tapping away into this course. A free write! I like free, Free is good so feet first into the deep and tread water till i do something that resembles swimming.

The concept of a free write is supposedly a constant undisrupted stream of thought, well here it is, just falling onto letter, the meandering if buts and random otherness that roams freely in my personal Serengeti, every now and then the most odd creature will just zipp violently past my periphery and I’m off, easily distracted by this new something that, on second thoughts, might just be the light catching on my fantasies that I tuck in the corner and teasing me with some form of unspoken difference. But pish posh, it had my attention and in my mind that is something that I wont take lightly, out in the real world my attention is a cause for serious assessment, never waste it, use it sparingly and justly, at least that’s what i would hope to tell myself.

The topography of my personal precipice is very much like a rolling sky of clouds, beginning to sound dangerously like a bugois cliche, the trap of many a student scribe, but i plea for your patience as i share a little something here, If you’re reading this and you understand this writing 101 situation, that means you have resigned to the fact that you are entering a land of uncertain occurrences, raw … me, we might take a turn in some mysterious direction at any minute so i urge you to keep your seat belts fastened and hands and all limbs inside the carriage at all times.

Back to the clouds, I often sit, whenever the time stills around me, and give credit to the unspoken ballerinas that prance across the levitated blue, sometimes its black with the hushed tone of the nights sky, some times its red with a solemn anger sometimes it’ll scare you with a new emotion that you didnt think it had. But this setting offers a canvas of great scenes, These soft things fandango and flamenco, samba around each other, throwing shapes at me in such unexpected ways, sometimes they are just moving and i observe the wonder, sometimes we play a game of charades and I internally, enthusiastically, guess right each time, but when i was younger we played the novice version, now im older, every round is a power round, each second breathes a new shape, the sun hurtles across its burning arc as the day zips past, casting a cacophony of light at the dancers, a dog, a bone, a stick and the very occasional, mother holding her baby while dancing with a crocodile.

This all catches my eye, because its there, because its now, because its beautiful, but most importantly because its like family. In this opera of every changing ‘right nows’ i see a physical amalgamation of what lives in my thoughts. The chills in my hearts as i think about it, just echo the effect of the skys map of my mind, Although i have some sorry days, some, not so full of glory days and this internal ballets has a murky ashed aqua attire, but these clouds in the sky never seem down, even under pitter pattering nimbus they maintain a certain beauty. Me and them are family. They are my favourite cousin.