[09:24, 11/24/2019] sarah misselbrook:
It is as if
By the mere act of typing
I am defying
Those who always said
Could do better
A gifted draftsman
But not a natural writer
Responding to you
A new form of expression
I, for now, belong
So thank you
[09:47, 11/24/2019] maija:
No rules, no prescribed format, just the feeling of a word
of its order and combination in the text
Tumbling from the spout like water pumped from the well.
The mind is like the pump handle, not thinking the words at all,
just releasing the flow with invisible hands; releasing this sun sparkled torrent. The water is sharply and breathlessly cold.
Cold as ice from deep within the earth;
from an underground lake of inspiration
No thinking needed to unlock the gate.
And when we get out of our own way,
no longer inhibited by ideas of what we should be and do and say,
the response is immediately present
Seeking articulation from the sparks of inspiration: moments of light pulsing like stars in a map of isolated sky
drenched through with the waters
fertilising those glowing seeds that dream of a life in us.
I am a wisdom keeper
a life giver
creator in the space between a life and a death
Music maker in the living breath
animating worlds within perception
there is no world without the creatures
seeking expression of their natures.
It’s lonely in the tower when it becomes untethered from the ground beneath / and hair trails like roots from an upstairs window seeking the soil like an upturned tree.
I guess then I must concede,
the fibres of my connections
deliver me what I need
Yes, I always thought we’d do well to live more like the trees.