creativity – Page 7 – three good words

August 15, 2015August 15, 2015

time again

a hot flash of recognition
clear as cold milk
taken out with child’s hands
drunk in icy gulps
like music
to the blood-orange birth
of another cycle
laced with hazy blue
and grey and white
back when a year was
endless days x 365 = time
and time and time.

that and that and that
was always there
yet with life so busy
and things to be done
the snows drifted higher
the canyons deeper
until a sudden jab of desert heat
lays all bare
and time opens wide
from past to present, future
where here and here
and here again
hidden treasures abound

brilliant bracelets and flashing crowns
proof of glory once owned
for an eternal moment
now displayed in silent halls
of days and time remembered
fragments dismembered
to memory:

when was this kingdom lost
or rather, was it ever won?
as sovereign
how and why resign the sceptre
refuse the ring
and hide the crown?
what madness is this?
truly, one wonders.

alas, the scrolls unfurl
more and more
crystals cusping
over thresholds ancient-old
descending into time and time
and time again
singing spring
to once-known winter
calling fall
ruby-red and golden
to tales of summer
high and blazing
twice known
thrice remembered
twined to one.

May 1, 2015May 1, 2015

penning paper

trying once, twice
to centre the liquid
doubt on one line
of thought and feeling

where sight contracts
to lenses shaded black
pink, blue like smokey bayou
bars of light, filtering

a piece of silence curved
fitted around the word
less of a momentary slip
of mind opening the window for a moment?

and, there, right there
that silence, sudden
soundlightimage
shattered
gone

until another moment
hopefully.

April 24, 2015

always, only

like rivulets of silk
darkly smooth in
mellow sweetness

the soul of a melody
is lodged deep down
your heart and spine
right in the marrow bone

and you wonder for three seconds:
why fear?
for in the depth
there is a height so vast
so far

you’re the prophet
with the chariots of fire
the dark lady worshiped
with lute and lyre
the throned god ruling
the liquid gyre

all those pasts layed to rest
calling quietly
to be remembered, known
aspired

so yes,
this is the moment
this is the time, there is no other
there is always, only
now
now
now
.

April 2, 2015April 3, 2015

twice over

that feeling of having
walked through the alphabet
twice over

that sense that I’m
probably
repeating myself
once again

there are certain words
that crop up
over and over

and I’m waiting for
that blade of light
to sear through the clouds
dense and rising
with the awful dark
absence
of inspiration
…

March 12, 2015March 16, 2015

true genius

I wrote this some time ago, during one of those bad moments when the realisation that I just was really truly absolutely ohmygoodness definitely not there yet was very real. Ah, but the great thing about great writers is that, never mind how they make you feel like last week’s left overs, writing-wise, they also help you know that it is possible to do better, be better, try your best. Reading their writing is, next to the great story, also this lovely gift: somewhere, somehow, someone was able to touch that thing that is divine and turn it into perfect word-gold. Terry Pratchett was one of them. Dear Sir (he was knighted), you’ll be sorely, sorely missed. You made so many people laugh and think and feel and laugh again so many times, the world has really lost a true genius today. Rest in Peace. Or as the Librarian would say:
Ook!

…

Gosh, if I could only come up with something like Überwald, Bess Pelargic, The Agatean Empire, 71-hour Achmed or the Octarine Grass Country. Or simply the Anthropomorphic Personification of the Ultimate Certainty, the Grim Reaper a.k.a. Mr. Door. Terry Pratchett is a genius, a real and true genius, though I still think Rincewind is complete and utter twerp. The Night Watch with Commander Vimes and Carrot Ironfoundersson + rag-tag band of misfits and miscreants, the Witches of Lancre + kingdoms and villages, Ms Aching and the Nac Mac Feegles, the University faculty + Librarian, and all the city Guilds + C.M.O.T. Dibbler, Mr Lipwig, Ms Dearheart and whatever new Scheme Moist von is up to, and then, of course, the Patrician with ever resourceful and loyal Drumknott, they’re all breathtakingly, mind-bendingly, side-splittingly fabulous – but Rincewind just puts me off. He really really really annoys me. The only great thing about Rincewind is The Luggage (Sapient Pearwood! Imagine! The madness! The magnificence!). Barely managed The Colour of Magic, and only because I sat through that ghastly mash-up of a movie. Afterwards I had to read it. Rincewind is that character who just makes you want to reach into the book and slap people, meaning him. Though some of the scenes with him in it are utter hilarity.

…

Oh and one more thing: Really, the Luggage. The Luggage. I dare you to come up with something as hilariously insane as the Luggage. Go on. Try it. I shall sink my reading teeth into it, promise.
j.d.