(from a FB post March 2021) last night I dreamt that I was drowning in purple ink… and it struck me this morning that I had started writing poems every day and then just stopped.
Not sure I want to keep up an everyday thing, but it was obvious my one-shot poetry was keeping my mind at ease somehow.
SO not sure if that was a case of doing something else creative to unblock or that my artist was saying hey it’s great you enjoy this thing too…but the words still want to come out.
Guess I’m back to writing… Words on the Page
When I write with pen and paper the words bleed themselves onto the page
The hand moves to catch up but the words have already decided where they will be
If music plays in the background my mind follows it out of the way of the words
They crawl out hesitantly at first not sure if they will be sequestered yet again
They have often flowed joyously onto pages shifting, teasing, searching, seeking
Only to be disparaged, judged, ridiculed no peace no kind word of encouragement
Thrashed and beaten they retreat not wishing to be scolded for existing
And now I sit ready, weeping for all the times I punished those words
Those sweet words that understood my thoughts, my pains, my fleeting joys
Words that began as meaningless mumbles mere scratches on the page
Those words that grew and appeared and filled the pages with healing with release
Over and over, they tried to be there coaxing helping pleading only to be rebuked
Once again looking for refuge once again crawling back my schemes and ideas vanishing
Fading into the fears swallowed up by pride and ego and crushing doubt
The words they never fail me
even when I’ve done my best to silence them
They will still slowly return
Both of us hoping this time I’ll let them stay
Let them live
Let them breathe
Let them be imperfect
And True.
