I seem to have a new chanel for creativity these past few months. There have been some very difficult dark times and words keep flowing through me. Helping me to make sense of it. Helping to make it tangible. I am not a poet and I'm quite sure my grammar leaves a lot to be desired but I have had fun playing with the words. They bring me comfort.
What I find strange is that when the words com they are darker, more macarbe than any other my creative expressions. When I make things, I make nice things, pretty things..things to make me smile. Things to make you smile. But the words, they follow a different path. They want to unleash, to open up and start a dialogue. They are more daring, more risky.
It makes me feel vulnerable to share them but I quite like the feel of it. They are nothing but musings. Playful ramblings of a dotty bird. To tired to fly. Contemplating deeply the world around and building a safe nest for winter.
This morning..7am.. after a restless night (inspired by the howling wind)
She's angry, agitated
Short sharp breaths
I cannot see her but I feel her all around
She's trying to speak
or is it just that no one listened?
Her gentle whispers now a torrent of abuse
She cracks her bones
Sways and shakes
twists and spirals
Making room for something new
at first a groan then wailing, roaring
but then she ceases
or did she just move on
in her absence, a new silence
a deafening silence
Thanks for reading :)