Tossing words like breadcrumbs. She comes on like high tide, carving her own shoreline... a visible song.
how she works
I am primarily Muse and Inertia driven. My muse changes day to day, hour to hour and moment to moment. One of these days, it may be you. I might even give credit where credit is due, if I am aware enough to take notice. I have no specific style or even direct influences to point at. I simply have too many thoughts and feelings to keep them all inside for too long. Sometimes a rant will suffice, but sometimes I am compelled to write. 'Stream of consciousness meets word association' might be a reasonable pitch for my process. I remember reading something as a child that has always stuck with me. Sherlock Holmes said something about his mind being like a library for facts, and that he only had room for a finite number of facts. He would intentionally forget the details of a case after it was finished so that he could be sure there was room for the next case. He would remember important facts and things that would be of use later, for perspective or reference, but not the minutia. I feel that my mind and my soul are somewhat like this. A repository of thoughts and feelings and ideas, most of which are made up of words. It's a lot of words. Words sometimes crowd my head and push and jumble and cavort until I finally give in and let them flow from my fingertips, either onto a page or through a keyboard. in either case I never know what they will be until I see them appear. I rarely edit because when I try to read it all sounds like gibberish at best, rubbish at worst, so I delete it. Sometimes I like a thing I have written after it has sat a while and I've forgotten it. This way it feels like I am reading something entirely new, and I am far less critical. I don't take many things seriously, and poetry is no exception. If you enjoy it, I am delighted. If you don't, I hope you can find plenty of other stuff to read that will bring you joy. Please excuse my lack of structure, formality and even cohesiveness if that sort of thing upsets you. I'm here to release the wild words, and that is all.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
this house (29/08/2019)
and i begin to fade (24/08/2019)
& love & need & love & need... (21/08/2019)
Tried, I did. (12/08/2019)
I said to him one afternoon... (10/08/2019)
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