Creative Writing Ink Exercise August 23
Slanted days arranged like
the lines of your pictures
so hard to know whether you
were coming or going
what drew you to those places
edges emptied but framed
witnessed by the leaves
and shadows of people
walking the unknown
Near the Hindmarsh River estuary close by at Victor Harbor there are beautiful resilient swamp paperbark trees. A boardwalk and trail lead around them; in winter the surface of the water in the small lagoon next to the trail flirts with the trees' reflections on those still days that have one stop, enchanted. This blog is to follow the trail wherever that may be lead across the world of enchantment and earth rapture.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Blue Tongued Day: Creative Writing Ink photo of August 3
Sky Fields
She took him to the edge of the field
where the blue flowers had begun their bloom
He was blind. She moved his hand
to one of the flowers. He sighed as his fingers
first one then another, touched the outburst
of blue; a shiver ran up his spine; a lone tear
bubbled. How many are here he asked. Enough
she said and moved his hand to where there
there were more. I can feel them going into the earth
and talk with the air; they are rich with sun
He stayed still, quiet now so she steadied him
her hands on his back and shoulder. The land
tilts, he said. I can hear the clouds. There are people
buried here, close, long ago. This is a dreamers
sky road that goes past the trees and the mound.
The earth remembers. Yes she said, you are right
here you are buried, here you return.
She took him to the edge of the field
where the blue flowers had begun their bloom
He was blind. She moved his hand
to one of the flowers. He sighed as his fingers
first one then another, touched the outburst
of blue; a shiver ran up his spine; a lone tear
bubbled. How many are here he asked. Enough
she said and moved his hand to where there
there were more. I can feel them going into the earth
and talk with the air; they are rich with sun
He stayed still, quiet now so she steadied him
her hands on his back and shoulder. The land
tilts, he said. I can hear the clouds. There are people
buried here, close, long ago. This is a dreamers
sky road that goes past the trees and the mound.
The earth remembers. Yes she said, you are right
here you are buried, here you return.
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Unsaid : Word Spaces
The unsaid often hangs heaviest in conversations. What people stop saying; what they don't say out aloud but think to themselves.
That may be negative or positive statements/thoughts.
Then there's the gaps between words. But today I am going to make sure I have words of praise, the shopkeeper who has a good supply of a favourite organic cocoa. Ted at the post office for having my mail ready and guiding me when I get confused with forms. My wife Dorrie for her huge commitment to me and to our son and grandson, that we all be well.
I'd love to hear how others experience the unsaid, the gaps, what they praise.
That may be negative or positive statements/thoughts.
Then there's the gaps between words. But today I am going to make sure I have words of praise, the shopkeeper who has a good supply of a favourite organic cocoa. Ted at the post office for having my mail ready and guiding me when I get confused with forms. My wife Dorrie for her huge commitment to me and to our son and grandson, that we all be well.
I'd love to hear how others experience the unsaid, the gaps, what they praise.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Word Shavings: Reverie
I've started reading Thomas Ogden's 'Reverie & Interpretation : Sensing Something Human (Karnac Books, 2005 edition). It's a great book about psychoanalysis.
He has some very astute, useful comments about the psychoanalytic process and the importance of language in that.
'Words and sentences', he writes, must be allowed a 'certain slippage'.
He cautions against stifling imagination by insisting on trying to define what we mean by 'ever increasing precision'.
"Imagination depends on the play of possibilities' (Reverie & Imagination, p3)..
Slippage, I like that.
He has some very astute, useful comments about the psychoanalytic process and the importance of language in that.
'Words and sentences', he writes, must be allowed a 'certain slippage'.
He cautions against stifling imagination by insisting on trying to define what we mean by 'ever increasing precision'.
"Imagination depends on the play of possibilities' (Reverie & Imagination, p3)..
Slippage, I like that.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Word shavings: the earth as keeper
There are places that have me come alive more, sacred places, special places, uninhibited places that I find inside as well amongst rock and tree and deep gorge.The earth is the keeper of so many stories, our stories, others stories, the stories of plants and ants, all forms of life.
Sometimes snippets can be heard like word shavings found amongst the roots of a tree, or in branches held by the wind, gusted too, from one place to another.
Where is sanctuary? what does it look like, feel like?
Sometimes snippets can be heard like word shavings found amongst the roots of a tree, or in branches held by the wind, gusted too, from one place to another.
Where is sanctuary? what does it look like, feel like?
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