Drifting with words
concentrating only
on sound or sight until a phrase that wants to unravel itself, spills words on the page like baubles from a broken necklace.
It has been up to me
to pick them up one by one,
setting aside those that belong
to another bit of jewelry until
they all string together on
the thread of my thoughts.
Finding a clasp that joins them lets me breathe deeply
this one more day when I wrote
one more wordy bit of creativity
set for myself with only frames of time and space
to focus and craft a thought
drifting past my mind’s eye
in fancy dress or somber colours
always finding a place
of hope or
maybe of joy
or maybe of perspective
or maybe of gratitude.
flowing freely from my heart.
Crafting my words define a place
not dogmatic,
pragmatic or
automatic and
not spitting out what might sound
right to someone else.
Someone else will see them
in a different light,
from a different slant and
through the different lens
of their experience
My words will even be read
in all of those ways ~
a difference of form than
my heart has sent out to this world of
men,
women and
children
who know only their own lives
for what they were, are and could be.
Many streams of consciousness that make up
the voices of many
put to the words of one.
“Hundreds of butterflies flitted in and out of sight like
short-lived punctuation marks in a stream of consciousness
without beginning or end.”
~ Haruki Murakami
2 comments:
Many pieces I like: the words like baubles spilled about for you to collect, finding that clasp that allows you a deep breath, the different light in which each reader will see your words,the flitting butterflies as short- lived punctuation marks! A stream .....
That was actually a surprising one. I had just spilled it out in my journal, not intending it for this blog, however I was stumped for what to write. Wanted something short - which this was not. Just copied it out, did some editing and voilá! Turned out ok. Thanks for critiquing. You do that well.
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