by Tamara Passey
Earlier this year I was seized with an idea for a short story and wrote it in two days, sprint-to-the-deadline fashion. You know how writing can do that? Show up like an unplanned house guest, move in and consume your thoughts and schedule. I woke up the third day to patiently waiting laundry and dishes and wondered what had happened to the maid service (uh, me, that is). I had been caught in another 'brain strom'. When I was writing my morning pages that day, this poem was born. Can anyone relate?
On Writing
What do I know?
I didn’t invent language
I can’t answer
For the way it rains
Clears the air, puddles in places
Generally, I avoid it with
An umbrella of busyness
Or I fall in, unwillingly
Wet and uncomfortably cold
Am I supposed to show this to people?
The aftermath of a cloudburst
In my head?
What can they know
About riding out storms
Hunkered down
With a flimsy keyboard
For protection
They read words
To laugh or cry, to relax
They want user friendly words
To dream or forget
What do I know?
I write words to survive.
Have a great writing day!!
Great poem. That about sums up my life. Thanks. :)
ReplyDeleteIt's nice to know I'm not the only one who abandons adult responsibilities for words.
ReplyDeleteGreat poem!
Thanks. That was great. Love the images, it made me smile.
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful poem, Tamara! I love it! I, too, find joy and nurturing satisfaction in writing and reading! <3
ReplyDeleteThe poem is very visual and tight. I LOVE it. The unwelcome houseguest is like the thoughts that come to my mind. I thought I was the only one that neglected housework to write. Great post.
ReplyDeleteWOW! Didn't know you were a poet. Love this. Thanks for sharing it with us.
ReplyDelete