Thursday, May 18, 2006
This was the optional prompt for this week's Poetry Thursday: "This week's idea is to visit your favorite bookstore or local library and get lost in the poetry section." I loved the idea, but our local library is tiny and doesn't have much in the way of poetry - or anything else for that matter. (Although they recently broke ground for a new building and I have hope that's when it's built we may have a better selection. Yay!) Still, the very lack of selection made me think about what the community is missing. I put that thought into a Haiku, so I suppose that's something. Tattered covers. Dust. Forgotten pages holding words that dance and soar. When I went to Cincinnati this past weekend I went to a couple of book stores and had a great time there. I loved looking through the books and deciding what needed to come home with me. I ended up with a couple of books of poetry, a couple of novels and one book about Tarot. Fun! For this week I want to share a poem that reminds me of the way nearly every creative person I know feels a bit burned out sometimes and feels like they just want to walk away from their passion and never create again. But for creative people, I don't think it's just something we do, it's something we are. Sooner or later we have to draw, paint, write, play music, make quilts, plant a garden, design jewelry, photograph things, dance, whatever...something that lets us express ourselves. We can try to push Creativity away, but eventually she catches up to us and reminds us why we love her. "I Said to Poetry" I said to Poetry: 'I'm finished with you.' Having to almost die before some weird light comes creeping through is no fun. 'No thank you, Creation, no muse need apply. I'm out for good times --- at the very least, some painless convention.' Poetry laid back and played dead until this morning. I wasn't sad or anything, only restless. Poetry said: 'You remember the desert, and how glad you were that you have an eye to see it with? You remember that, if ever so slightly?' I said: 'I didn't hear that. Besides, it's five o'clock in the a.m. I'm not getting up in the dark to talk to you.' Poetry said: 'But think about the time you saw the moon over that small canyon that you liked much better than the grand one --- and how surprised you were that the moonlight was green and you still had one good eye to see it with. Think of that!' 'I'll join the church!' I said, huffily, turning my face to the wall. 'I'll learn to pray again!' 'Let me ask you,' said Poetry. 'When you pray, what do you think you'll see?' Poetry had me. 'There's no paper in this room,' I said. 'And that new pen I bought makes a funny noise.' 'Bullshit,' said Poetry. 'Bullshit,' said I. ~~~Alice Walker "I Said..."