Today I'm posting three poems that were all written earlier this year. My idea regarding my 'coffee table book' was originally to combine both my artwork and my poetry together visually. So far, I have only been able to do this in a few instances. So what I've decided to do is post my written work here-directly on my blog, and figure out later what visuals will accompany them. Sometimes when I am writing, the painting or pastel or collage has already been born, and my writing flows specific to the existing visuals Sometimes it is the other way around. The feeling takes over in the form of words, and the picture is created in the mind after the letters take shape in my verses.
This first poem is an acrostic. Acrostic poetry uses a word, or a phrase, and each letter of the word or phrase refers back to, or helps to 'tell the story' of the word or phrase. I posted "Unrequited", which was both a visual and written work of art by yours truly, and an acrostic. This one is inspired by Friendship.
Feeling hope, joy and kindness in unison
Rays of warm connectivity bind
Insightful and shared visions of life.
Everlasting memory of happy camaraderie
Now a reminder of forgotten bliss, reawakened while I’m
Doing the creative work of love.
The next one was a contest entry and a response to the following prompt:
Prompt : "Wearing a mask...is so much the rule and the law among men that there is almost nothing which is less comprehensible than how an honest and pure drive for truth could have arisen among them. They are deeply immersed in illusions and in dream images; their eyes merely glide over the surface of things and see 'forms.'" ~ Friedrich Nietzsche
Intoxicated Devotion
Such an unhappy one he has been lately;
Brooding all the time about the love he thinks he’s lost.
Eyes cold blue, like frozen metal, burn her with accusation.
And although she has repeatedly asked him to come to his senses,
He cannot let it go. The form of her, he knows he’d seen that night.
Was it not her (his memory is her scent, permeating the space all around) at the tavern, sipping enthusiasm and feigning attentiveness?
Was it not her (he’d recognize that sing-song laugh anywhere) who accepted the token convenience store bought rose?
Was it not her (he knows the shape of her body, the flow of her hair down her back) who danced so tenuously, held in the arms of a man half his age?
It may be the whisky, strong and cut-throat, that blurs the vision of reality,
Making tainted reasoning his only truth.
Blaming makes it easier to accept that his true love beckons from the glass,
Teasing him to taste her whole.
While maudlin sentimentality warps true memory,
to favor a rose colored history.
And the last poem for today is one that I wrote back in January. It simply describes where I get some of the best inspiration - from within.
Inspiration
When the heart calls out –
silent screaming.
unnatural feeling,
wanting;
waiting in longing.
When the soul connects to
the unseen and yet felt –
there is quiet knowing,
emotions reeling;
Desire.
Waiting for another chance
to love
Myself.
So what did you think? I always welcome constructive criticism, both on my artwork and poetry. I'm interested in learning more about technique -written and visual- because I've come to understand that my creative journey is a constantly shifting and expanding process. It is amazing to me how many people out there not only do ' a little something' to further their art everyday, but also write and/or journal daily. My favorite blogs tend to be those that incorporate both things - in the form of art journalling.
Do you have any favorite blogs that I should check out?
I
