I've been trying to figure out why my creative juices are stuck and that is equally confusing. It's not even writer's block, because I haven't sat at the computer to write apart from this blog.
I could reel off a long list of excuses, but what is the reason? I'm trying to work that one out still. I haven't written a song, or a story, for ages. I've written plenty about cancer though, darn it - but that's not creative.
I am being creative though - in wood, in gardening, story telling for the kids (online) and in helping Sheena build things, but my literary creativity is stymied.
So, to prompt myself, here's a poem I am going to write now, with no preparation:
 |
| Beech |
They dance in the wind, long branches bowing and swaying
Oak stands steadfast aside, whilst all are sprinkled with blossom.
Hawthorn, cherry, their white petals snatched by the easterly.
In the forest an oak cracks and tumbles.
Ivy clings as the tree descends, but it cannot stop the fall.
The ivy killed the tree. The tree died. The ivy has lost it's home.
Full bodied ash are catching up with the oak, beech and birch.
They are fighting their own battle, whilst the pines grow
And the cones pop in the warmth and tumble to the ground.
So much life and death in the trees. So much new growth
So many changes, as each season sends new sap rising
Or old sap drying. And beetles making home in the fallen.
Not sure where I was going with that - just looked out the window. With a bit of work, it could be something decent.
Right, back to the garden...
No comments:
Post a Comment