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Some days I read or see something that reminds me of a poem I wrote. It is then I think I really should put them all together into a book of some sort. Then just as fast as that thought comes it passes with the thought of oh who cares. They are just words that will pass in time never to be uttered again.
A new life
Recently I injured one hand and wrist so I am unable to do the things I normally do. If I want them to heal I have no choice but to limit my use of them. That is extremely difficult for me. Not only do I simply find it uncomfortable sitting with my hands idle but I miss the enjoyment that comes to me while working with my hands. When my hands are busy creating my mind is quiet. Whether I’m counting single crochet stitches while working on a new afghan pattern, cutting out pieces for a quilt or carefully hand stitching beads and lace on a Victorian doll I am focused and productive. These things make me happy. Another thing that makes me happy is writing. Everyone that knows me at all knows that I am drawn to words. They are, to me, like carefully selected pigment on canvas. They paint and preserve all that we see, think and feel. They embellish and capture the world around us in a magical, artistic way. In truth, I always want to write but I attempt to keep that want in quiet submission. Instead I contently busy myself creating something that I may be able to sell in the future. Occasionally though, for the sake of my mental health, I do indulge and allow myself time to write because it is restorative, therapeutic and healing. I also strongly feel it is historically important for future generations to write and preserve thoughts, ideas, family happenings and stories of today but- it does not pay the bills so as important as I feel it is and as driven and dogmatic as I can be about it I often stifle my desire to write.Temporally though I can not do the hand work that makes me happy and helps to provide extra income. During this necessary healing but idle time writing has become paramount on my mind. More than ever words are multiplying and screaming to be acknowledged. They explode in bright colors making attention seeking sounds as they bounce around looking for an escape door. Words that make up the one liners, the short stories, the historical memories and the many poems I hold inside me are all pushing and shoving to get out. They want to be researched, examined, and nurtured. They want to stretch and grow into detailed maturity. They want a new home, one that is free from the restrictive area in which they now reside and they dream longingly to be drafted onto a piece of uninhabited, smooth paper. They want to be read, appreciated and honestly critiqued by a discerning eye. Their desire to come forth and be allowed to fulfill their natural calling has grown stronger day by day and within the past few hours it has become more compelling than ever. The words move into position and bare down hard, readying themselves to be born. The time is so near that even I can feel their labor pains. Soon…very soon a new life made of infant words will be born. What joy!
exhaustion demands that I sleep but nightmares abound……………..so……………. I doze in and out of sleep while riding through horrors indescribable…..
April 5, 2016 · Shared with Your friends
I like new words, old words, kind words, intense words, passionate words, mysterious words, loud words, whispered words, and words bumping into each other. I like words that make people giggle, cry, sigh, dream, create, imagine, desire, work harder and that take a persons breath away causing them to simply sit in silence for a time. I like words that teach, encourage, comfort, and calm. I like words that rhyme, words set to music and words that hang in the air as if by magic. I like words that reach to heaven and those that dwell in the heart of others. I like words written in red, words that spread across pages, ages and stages of humanity. I like the words, “In the beginning”, the last “Amen” and all those that fall between ………………………
