Saturday Post

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A little about me
I wish that sometimes that strong voice I manage to write in when I’m writing poetry would be my full time voice. Instead of the one that tries to second guess my thoughts even when I’m still forming them, and can spend hours making and unmaking the same decision.
I wish that sometimes I didn’t care half as much as I do about some of the people in my world, and that I could accept the fact they won’t ever care the same way about me.
I wish that sometimes, I were the kind of person who didn’t care at all about what people think of me. So that if my favourite song came on the radio, I would, without thought, sing along. Or dance whilst cooking. Or take up amateur dramatics.
In essence, sometimes, I wish I wasn’t me.
Don’t we all, sometimes?

Poetry inspiration this week

Coastline
2015-08-29 11.25.52

Duck Pond
2015-08-29 12.30.45

Freshly cut wood, freshly mown grass. Ebony Jewelwing dragonflies, grasshoppers.

Article in the news
Teach This Poem

Random thought for Saturday
I wonder if all poets get that grip of ‘I must write this down’ and then stare back at the page or screen and think, huh, those are my words… I had no control over them? Because when a poem has decided to out itself – whether it’s a bad poem or a good one – the lines just force their way out. I’ve open and shut my computer several times this week just because my notebook wasn’t to hand to scribble things down. I’ve woke in the middle of the night cursing the line that’s playing on loop between my lobes, and had to put it down somewhere before I can attempt sleep again. Of course, by then, I’ve started so I have to finish – it’s rare for me to have a poem take more than one sitting. Which doesn’t mean I don’t draft it over and over, it just means, it’s normally written in one go and then tinkered with later. Sometimes it’s not even a line, but a piece of assonance or consonance that wants outing somehow. Or even a stray word that just…has something to say.
I’m sure I’m not alone in this, the feeling that my fingers and brain have a direct thing going on but the ‘me’ in the middle is somehow not in on the loop. Sometimes it’s good, other times I reread a day or so later and think…whoever wrote this shouldn’t have even bothered.
Facepalm.

Anyway… happy Saturday 🙂

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