Greetings all and first up may I thank Anna, Louise and Shilpa for stopping by on my latest blog post. I also had a few readers who preferred to stay silent but much love to each and everyone of you for noticing this tiny corner of well, who knows where really.
It was pleasing that the little stick man poem got a positive response. The idea of bringing a seemingly inanimate object to life worked quite well. It's interesting on how the piece pulled at the heartstrings and ended up being a bit of a sad journey. I wonder when we write, draw or create that we put a bit of ourselves into our work as well as tuning into our muse. I've heard it said that creativity is a deep expression of catharsis and that is when our work truly comes alive. If you look at the amount of poems written you will no doubt notice that quite a number are of a sombre nature.
I always enjoy the writing process, the problem that I and many others share is actually getting going. It's the same old thing looking at a blank screen and wondering well, what drivel will pour forth today or shall I be inspired? Truth is that we do not know but one evident axiom is that nothing will be produced by merely navel gazing or procrastinating on YouTube or some other digital distraction.
It's curious on how productive our digital environments can be with the advent of office packages and yet the digital world can suck us into all sorts of dubious destinations of non performance in the pursuit of finding some kind of release. It is a peculiar paradox that shows no sign of slowing down. I guess here is where we will find the realm of the monkey mind that holds sway on each of us. The irony is, that when we create our minds pretty much go blank and the words just flow. When the left side of the brain plods in, suddenly every word becomes an iron boot directing always back to the delete button and you'll maybe knock a mere hundred words out in half an hour.
When the muse is singing to us the words just flow. I know if I'm truly in flow I can cobble together a good 700 words or so and some of those wordsmiths on NANOWRIMO were easily punting out over a 1000 at a time in the same time frame. When you think that a reasonable novel will come to 50k you realise that such an endeavour is achievable. What they don't realise is that's the easy part. The editing, publishing process is a bit more deeper than that and there are no guarantees. Your work could easily end up taking residence on a little USB stick somewhere never seeing the light of day.
I feel it's important to point out that we should never feel inferior to anyone. Just remember that whatever you've created is a little bouquet of joy for you. You have created. It matters not whether your poem is a simple cat on the mat effort or like me, your drawing will be a little stick man. Life has been created by the form of expression and whilst some may see your work always remember that it's yours and always will be. If you wish to get your work published then yes, it can be harsh as those who make it their mission to issue the finest material may well pour scorn on efforts they deem unsuitable.
Never let that put you off though. One person's poison can well be another's passion. What counts though is you put your work out there and always cherish and love those who stick with you. I know this humble little blog doesn't bring in the masses but what it does show is those who continue to come again and again appreciate the effort you put in. Once again, I confer my gratitude to each of you. Well, shall I type a new poem...maybe another stick man effort is coming. Here goes nothing, straight off the keyboard with a slightly different slant today.
Uniform
Delete expression
You are nameless
A mere number
Scanned each day
Glance, the mirror
Witness a circle
Of human dissonance
Moulded to compliance
Tread glued steps
In perfect pace
A beaten dolly
Who daren't blink
We traced you
Made you
One womb yielded
A soul vibrant
Instantly we strived
Stapled you down
In dark lines
Circle, eyes, nose, mouth
A sparkle silenced
Joy is noxious
Unpermitted sins
Must be curbed
Ignore pointless fruits
Plain one
You fit in
Our thing of yield
Go forth
With eyes slammed
The mission states
You are ours.
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