I can feel the cords
Need to disable some of these lines in
Trimming the tree
Cut the dead branches away
Is this poetry?
Is it just in my way.
I’m running down the road
With an indigo sky
Morning stars above
Asking why why why
Where has my poetry gone
And out of the dark
A whisper weaves through the grass
“You have become the poem”
It rolls through me
But still I’m weak
I don’t trust it
I interrogate internally
The answers are bleak
I think you might just be a fraud
I run on
Sun breaches the horizon
Shafts hitting the leaves
Dust motes dawdling
Clinging to cobwebs lit up in morning sparkles
Warmth hits my shoulders
The sun is there
Even though I can’t see it
It has my back
I can feel it
Golden fingers spreading into a hug
The sort that faith brings
Logic steps in
So it’s the sun right?
From the sinking cold feeling
That these dark cold thoughts sliding in my belly bring
The wave comes back bringing that idea
It is louder this time
Heard clearly over the sound of music in my ears
“I have become the poem”
All of this is mine
I don’t need to write
Even one more line
In my life
It is already mine
Poetry – the reason I love it – is not because it is some words herded into a small piece of paper or screen
Which sound pretty
Poetry to me is something more encompassing
It is how I experience life
And to step into the poem
Is to step into my life
Take the wheel and drive
To live within beauty, truth, and this ongoing deep seated passion for my own experience within this amazing life
To become the poem as I understood it this morning
It is like becoming one with the Tao
Held in a velvet bag we carry around and keep misplacing
But look within
As common as a favourite shirt
Turned into a rag
But the pattern every time you find it – use it…
Difficult to describe
And of course I fell out of it again as I pulled up to chat to a man that lost his dog and back into it and out of it again
And once known
The map is less obscure
Sorry I have just tried to explain the colour of air
I’m finding it difficult and it’s probably not necessary anyway
Back to self doubt …
We don’t question the sun, the sky – the moon and its phases.
Yet when I’m not living my poem
I fall into questioning myself and these deep enquiries are necessary.
Self doubt and fear of failure are not pleasant but they are circular.
In order to get rid of them – every time they turn up like unwanted house guests – I find I have to get to the bottom of what is causing them to think they can just show up in the first place.
To confuse matters
They don’t always come as themselves either. They turn up with false identities.
And that awful feeling that creeps about my mind
I’m less than and may always be less than and may always be less than
So you walk around these unwanted guests, annoyed for a few days that this old crap is even getting to you and then suddenly boom
“Oh it’s you two again – righto I know how to deal with you clowns – pack your bags and off you go”
And so they leave
There are a couple of things I have found that allow these negative emotions to fester
Creativity wise – Instagram is fun. But some sorts of fun are like eating too much sugar. Highs and lows – draining.
What I’ve found is that I’m building this thing called “I am a writer” but I am writing less and less and even my poetry of late has become desultory.
It’s like being turned inside out and the things that actually matter
Have fallen out
You reach in your pocket to pay the price
And there’s a hole
All the money
Time to cut some cords (or at least severely trim) that are draining my energy sources
Thanks for listening
I will be back writing here – in July – but will still be catching up with you guys at least every few days so I can keep up to date with what everyone is doing.