WG; ‘Discovering Your Continent’ (CRW150 Blog Post #3)

Doors, I love doors.
I come across one now, as it sits almost hidden in a field of sunflowers.
But I notice a faint outline and wander closer.
I touch it and it feels like the textured surface of a sunflower, yet with softened petals overlaying the surface.
I look down to my left and see a golden bee looking upward towards the sky, transfixed, not moving and realize this must be the door’s handle.
I gently touch it – it feels smooth like polished porcelain and it immediately springs open allowing me to enter.

When I place my foot over the threshold, I notice the air smells sharp, like fresh lavender and the light is a bit dimmer, more of a rosy hue. There are big dragonfly-like insects buzzing around and hummingbirds in slow motion stopping to look at me.
Fuzzy ferns seem to sprout and trail from almost every surface along with a myriad of colorful fluted flowers, with bee faces peeking out of them to watch me slowly walk by on a thick carpet of bright purple grass.
Gravity has seemed to lift in this tepid place as slow motion takes ahold, leaving every movement bigger and longer. But you seem to be able to take in everything all at once, not missing a single detail or nuance.

I can hear roaring like a grizzly close by, but it doesn’t seem to frighten me for some reason.
A ‘whapping’ noise comes from overhead, causing a shadow to appear along with it. I look up, shading my eyes out of instinct, although there doesn’t seem to be a need to here, and slowly begin to see a very large, long billed bird-like creature. It is making its way across the pinkened sky towards a hole in a mound of sorts. There are some letters over the top of the mound that seem to read ‘Th Futur’. Hmm, maybe they don’t like ‘E’s here.

Then the grizzly roaring gets closer and the firefly creatures all turn towards it, causing me to do the same. As we stand there waiting, I can feel the ground tremble a bit. Suddenly, a hairy creature advances from the mist to stand before me. I look up at this somewhat tall creature and ask, “Yeti?”.
To which he replies, “Just Yed”.
“Oh”, I answer “Yed”.
“And you are?” asks Yed.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Shosy. Nice to meet you, Yed”.
“You too, Shosy”, replies Yed.

Wondering what to say or do next, Yed and I just begin to walk together naturally, as if we’ve known one another for a long time. It’s an easy camaraderie and we simply ‘go with the flow’, walking and talking a bit here and there. I ask Yed about himself and the place I’m now at and he, in return asks me about myself and how I got here. Apparently, out of all the flowers in this land, there are no sunflowers, so Yed has never seen one.
But then again, I’ve never met a Yeti up close and personal, nor walked around in apparent slow motion either.
So, I suppose we learn something new every day.
I promise next time I visit, I’ll bring Yed a sunflower.

SL
1/31/23

The Novelty (Post 2 – CRW150)

There are many things that tag along on a daily basis, struggling to irritate me. I could list them for you, just to give you a run-down. But instead, I’ll simply allude to them and see if you can put your fingers on my meanings, how does that sound? After all, why be so straight forward, when it would be much more fun to puzzle it out a bit. You know, use our noggins.

Endless scraps of papers, taking up room in folders, scrunched at the bottom of bags with no where to go. The writing disappears over time, like faded thoughts of energies well spent. So, what to do with them? Personally, if you know what I’m speaking of, I have a burn day. It’s so satisfying to watch it all go up in smoke!

Then there are continuous electronic trails, leading to everyone jumping on board the runaway conveyance to have their say. After one or two, I’m out, taking the passage going in the opposite direction.
And while it’s sparkling eye candy to peek through all those thoughts and pics on a regular basis, I’d much rather sit and create for a while, to let my mind wander and enjoy the space on the outside of a screen.

However, life in general can be bothersome; debts that need more funds no matter how much you constantly feed them, cars that need expensive new rubber to carry them around on, a patch that’s not supposed to be green yet it’s now overflowing! Call the landscaper and rub off those bills into his gloves.

Don’t forget to renew remedies, so you don’t get ill, and nourish those whiskery mouths before they trample the house apart. These aren’t really hassles but rather responsibilities that can sometimes be a bit of a burden because you are always rushing around like a dervish!

But, for some reason, if we didn’t have little or big things in life to bother us, would we appreciate the calm, peaceful times at all? Would we be able to wander barefoot through slowly dying embers of the firepit just to dare one another? Or scratch a piggy hiney and feel satisfaction? Or lay in a bathtub with no water, just to hear ourselves breathe?
I think not.
I think these are all novelties of my weird, random world, where I endure the inconvenience of miscellaneous displeasures. And I’d not trade it for anyone else’s.

I Am A Writer

I Am A Writer (Post 1 CRW150)

Yes, I can finally acknowledge that I am a writer (mainly a poet, but also a composer of lyrical images put together by strings of words or verses). Do you know I actually read my very first prose poem today and it was enlightening, imaginative, intriguing and exhilarating. To see a poem written in another form, as a paragraph and in a kind of narrative format, was the visual I needed. I can hardly wait to replicate this process in my own writing.

You may not know this about me, but I am a visual person, as well as a tactile individual. I lost my sight a few years ago, for a few months and while it was a learning experience for me personally, I still drew. One of my sons told me my art was actually better when I was blind, to which I found fascinating. I think it may have been either my color choices or my subject matter at the time but not sure which.

Yet to see a poem, in a ‘new’ format (to me) is stimulating. I try to push boundaries all the time with my writing; my poems do not rhyme, I rap in them at times, cuss at certain times, I push words across the page instead of starting [left margin, add several fonts per piece, mix two poems in one…the list goes on. You cannot let your writing grow stagnant, it must grow and change as we do as individuals.

And, I contend my poetry is therapy for my weary soul. It helps eliminate the urinal displeasures from my discontented urethra. And much of it I keep to myself because it simply is not for human consumption. But then there can be Pixie Dust or a rocking chair involved and it may make someone smile, which is a nice feeling.

Contests can and have been won or at the very least honorable mentions have surfaced, but the way you make someone feel is what writing is all about. So, maybe my therapy writing has helped a few along the way as I’ve struggled a bit here and there in my quest for visualizing and feeling my way through the dark.
Because that’s what writers do and I’m a writer.