So I have been out of writing commission for a while to move from a city (or at least city-like) Tulsa to a small quaint town on the outskirts of the city–Sapulpa, Ok. In the interim much has happened with my causes 1) enlightening perceptions of mental illness and causing the transformation of methods used to treat the various forms of mental illness, 2) accepting life on life’s terms just the way it is and is not, and 3) promoting creativity in every genre and field. The “much happening” will be revealed in my next posting a little later in the week.
Was without computer for almost 2 weeks and that was extremely inconvenient, but the innovative little iphone made that bearable (spoiled American that I am). I have been writing poetry though and my writer’s group has been great with feedback lately so that when I do get to write, I am not writing into a void of self-indulgent critiques involving the rigid stance you sometimes see in writers–“-well, that is my voice and I think I know best what I want to say, etc.” I believe in throwing your words out there—hearing all the responses and reactions—then using them to see what is missing in your work and what is good about it, ultimately achieving balance in the piece you are working on. That way, your audience is involved and you find out if you’re creating shi-ite or not. The poem below is an analogy. I am not sure that I should tell you more than that as it could apply to so much more if I don’t explain it to you. So I am just going to throw it out there in the universe and see what happens. The picture is my new view of the city called appropriately, “Urban View” (and ironically, given it is Sapulpa) ….no more sunsets on the water (maybe).
Another Ship to Carry the Dead
My Companions, call out the dragons of doubt,
have them look inward for me.
Do you find me lacking?
When the drowsy daughters of the Pleiades mingle,
a miscarriage of justice occurs. No promises
nor dancing in the heavens
without first facing their ancient lineage.
Nothing will be designed without a series
of thunderheads crashing
or a few jagged lightning bolts thrown.
Without remorse they will cast
their nets for a thousand camouflaged pearls
meant for the King.
Then they will trace the outline of their round thighs
and smooth bellies
against a background of nightly showers,
in a glittering, milky-white array.
Muted power shielding naked truth moves through the land
in slow and rhythmic cadences.
The lions roar in the distance longing for release
from their shrouded cages.
In the skies above, their clawed feet sit in cloaked palaces,
houses for travelers on the way to Limbo or Valhalla.
Frozen at the edge, an ethereal ping
sounds off the lip of one dark hole,
as we listen for a matching ping and wait
for the hole to disappear into the next galaxy.
The rising clouds float on a mythic sea,
another ship to carry the dead.