Writing a Poem

I see the shapeshifting reality bulge
around the illusory hibiscus I could never match.
Veils of words needs constant shattering
to lighten thick, moldy layers of thatch.

My heartbeats come forth, secretly billowing,
burning new myths from a crimson flower.
I can’t help but lose myself, drowning,
reborn in this burgeoning, transformative power.

Staying open is toughest, free falling and bare
naked and hanging, having dropped from the sky.
Then the petaled plate tells me with it’s one eyed glare
to listen and watch, with laser focus, and try

To write these gossamer sheets of implausible power,
wispy, tenuous wings, burgundy eyefuls of red meat.
I tally this time to sit and stare, hour to hour
and find it’s telling me to just sit, watch and be complete.

I wrote this on a challenge to create on the spot from Jessamyn on her post, Sunday Scaffolding.

17 thoughts on “Writing a Poem

  1. Hello Glitter,
    I love the last two words “be complete.” I tease a friend that she is the only one I know that was born whole. She doesn’t know what I mean. I tell her that’s prool. How hard it is for us to think that we can just let ourselves be and still be worthy.
    We rush about thinking that we must be doing something important every minute to prove we’re worth anything.
    I hope you listened to yourself and sat to watch just being complete. You deserve such moments in your life.

  2. Man…I should take some lessons. I’m one who can’t sit stand (or even lay…I’m constantly moving while I sleep) still. I alway feel I must be doing something…for as long as I can remember I’ve had to go go go. It’s so hard to make myself just stop and take a break…do nothing. Part of it is because I feel like life is passing me by if I don’t keep doing things. There’s so much I want to do…how do we fit it in one life time?

  3. Liz- these words come after the other ones you just got…Now that the clogged filter is has been cleaned, I can enjoy your comment with freshness. The completeness you refer to is almost too easy for me. Entropy is a powerful force in my life. Perhaps giving in to it, as you imply is the secret to harnessing it. I don’t know. But as Jennifer put it, I feel like life is passing me by… so I do things for that reason, no other…(this wasn’t a whole lot fresher, was it?)

    Jennifer, your last sentence says it all. How can we possibly justify just being without doing? It seems inherently sinful.

  4. I have a lovely wife named Jennifer who can’t sit still much either. She also is afraid that life will just pass her by. And, Garnett, I know you didn’t mean it literally but I am of the persuasion that nothing is inherently ‘sinful’ and that the only way to justify ‘just being’ is to remember that ‘doing’ comes out of ‘being’. Everyting comes out of being. I think of Neale Donald Walsch in ‘Conversations With God’ saying: “Remember who you really are, and be that”. Then get busy!

  5. “I tally this time to sit and stare, hour to hour
    and find it’s telling me to just sit, watch and be complete”

    Is my webcam on? Seriously sounds like me at my computer, trying to find some inspiration inside me.

  6. Ron- these are rich and weighty words you write. I am flattered to have your thinking on my site. Such subtle discernment is necessary to be an artist. I will remind myself of these words in times of self doubt, when I have little to show for hours of ruminating and pondering what to write.

    Ned- I often feel a similar sentiment when I read your stuff. Thank you!

  7. “I can’t help but loose myself, drowning,
    reborn in this burgeoning, transformative power.”

    Wow…! What else is there to say?

    I love this Garnet… 🙂

  8. Glitter, how wonderful your afinity for the flower who opens her or his eyes fully for just a day and then must drop fro m its nourishment and give its color and life back to the earth. We humans think we have endless days to become, to be, to learn our private reason for being. We are wasteful and out witted by the noise of life. You are right; we need to stop, be still, to hear the music of our souls.

  9. Many wonderful lines in this existential poem. Was swept in by the first line with its: “…shapeshifting reality bulge.” Another favorite is “To write these gossamer sheets of implausible power…”

    I notice too all the words ending with ‘ing’ — like tendrils on plants.

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