"Poets are soldiers that liberate words from the steadfast possession of definition."
Eli Khamarov
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Monday, March 23, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Quote For The Day & The Gratitude Pool
“Language is the archives of history.”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson, writer and philosopher (1803-1882)
-Ralph Waldo Emerson, writer and philosopher (1803-1882)
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Which Way Did They Go?
by
Florence Ondré
What's Saturday doing here? Wasn't that yesterday?
I’m fairly sure that's when I woke up with weekend to-do lists in my head.
So, what's it doing on my plate today?
It's brain boggling how days can get lost like errant socks in the wash. They must be in the tumbler on spin cycle of my mind.
There's where I need a repair person.
Ratchet my grey matter up a notch or rev the world down. I don't know which would give more ability to keep things like days of the week in a more orderly fashion. Time's a blur right now. I can barely keep two thoughts together in a semblance of shape. There’s so much busyness; cacophony of chores calling, “Me first. Me first!”
Days become night before I get half of what I'd like to accomplish done. Dinner slips into an 8-ish slot and heartburn makes a frequent P.M. visit as I barely get the pots and pans washed and put away.
If I hit the couch, I'm a goner; waking up in some wee hour with drool on my cheek, a crimp in my neck and permanent eyeglass pinch marks on the bridge of my nose.
Now that's attractive!
Of course, by that time, I'm up. And getting to sleep is either a stumbling-up-the-stairs-fall-into-bed-like-a-stone affair; mumbling like my father used to when Mom caught him napping, “I lay down for a minute. Was just resting my eyes,” or my peepers are wide open like someone toothpick propped them. No rest for the weary. Good time to write.
Everything is still. Nothing to deter me from getting words together. No one to blame for interruptions in the creative flow.
..................And my mind's a blank.
Florence Ondré
What's Saturday doing here? Wasn't that yesterday?
I’m fairly sure that's when I woke up with weekend to-do lists in my head.
So, what's it doing on my plate today?
It's brain boggling how days can get lost like errant socks in the wash. They must be in the tumbler on spin cycle of my mind.
There's where I need a repair person.
Ratchet my grey matter up a notch or rev the world down. I don't know which would give more ability to keep things like days of the week in a more orderly fashion. Time's a blur right now. I can barely keep two thoughts together in a semblance of shape. There’s so much busyness; cacophony of chores calling, “Me first. Me first!”
Days become night before I get half of what I'd like to accomplish done. Dinner slips into an 8-ish slot and heartburn makes a frequent P.M. visit as I barely get the pots and pans washed and put away.
If I hit the couch, I'm a goner; waking up in some wee hour with drool on my cheek, a crimp in my neck and permanent eyeglass pinch marks on the bridge of my nose.
Now that's attractive!
Of course, by that time, I'm up. And getting to sleep is either a stumbling-up-the-stairs-fall-into-bed-like-a-stone affair; mumbling like my father used to when Mom caught him napping, “I lay down for a minute. Was just resting my eyes,” or my peepers are wide open like someone toothpick propped them. No rest for the weary. Good time to write.
Everything is still. Nothing to deter me from getting words together. No one to blame for interruptions in the creative flow.
..................And my mind's a blank.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Words Fail Me...
by Florence Ondré
Do you remember the saying, “Silence is golden; let’s make a million?”
Ever have one of those days where, no matter what the issue or moment; you can’t catch a break to save yourself?
Every little detail turns into a tangle; every proverbial molehill, a mountain. Even typing on your keyboard turns dyslexic or into a two-left-handed, fumble-fingers festival. (No disrespect, Lefties.)
Words have to get pulled out of your brain like Dumbledore’s wand pulling taffy-like threads of thought from your head; when memory banks send you the not too tightly coded message, “your account is overdrawn;” that’s when it might be time to stop.
Stop talking. Stop doing. Stop trying to figure it all out. Stop thinking altogether.
It’s not working anyway.
Well, this is one of those days for me and I’m noticing how much I want to accomplish while the Gods are throwing down concrete blocks in my path like it’s raining stop signs.
When omens are obvious that you're not going to get anywhere tripping over your own flip flops, who needs an eight ball to get the message, “Signs say doubtful?”
And still the energizer bunny in my hamster cage mind is going, going, going.
Got to get something written, have to get bug strips for the fruit fly invasion, should trim those hedges, want to organize the photo files, need to buy tin foil, must get toilet tissue, ought to purchase more stamps, want to return those phone calls. All of which are geared to set me up for the coulda, woulda, shoulda regretfest.
The list goes on long enough to occupy me entirely, like being laid out like a latke in an MRI session. Claustrophobia doesn’t stand a chance with me in that tunnel. Who has time to be scared? I’ve got my lists to contemplate. Going over them in my cranium and the next thing I hear after the tech has said, “Hold completely still, please,” is “OK, all done!” as they filch me out of the tube of magnetic resonance.
So much for my friend’s suggestion to ‘just let go and meditate; take advantage of the silence; just be.’
Now, here I am in this day, getting bombarded with every possible indicator that there will be no answers; no words out of my mouth or actions I may wish to take that will make a dent in the invisible duty roster or solve the challenges in my home, work or the world.
Balls are being dropped. Words won’t willingly come forth. Why grumble or grouse about it?
Might as well heed the call. Let go. Opt for some peace maybe.
This is not my wisdom face; sage, spiritual and serene.
I’m just too tired to argue.
It’s that kind of day. Silence sounds good.
And as I make this choice, rain begins to softly fall, hushing all.
Do you remember the saying, “Silence is golden; let’s make a million?”
Ever have one of those days where, no matter what the issue or moment; you can’t catch a break to save yourself?
Every little detail turns into a tangle; every proverbial molehill, a mountain. Even typing on your keyboard turns dyslexic or into a two-left-handed, fumble-fingers festival. (No disrespect, Lefties.)
Words have to get pulled out of your brain like Dumbledore’s wand pulling taffy-like threads of thought from your head; when memory banks send you the not too tightly coded message, “your account is overdrawn;” that’s when it might be time to stop.
Stop talking. Stop doing. Stop trying to figure it all out. Stop thinking altogether.
It’s not working anyway.
Well, this is one of those days for me and I’m noticing how much I want to accomplish while the Gods are throwing down concrete blocks in my path like it’s raining stop signs.
When omens are obvious that you're not going to get anywhere tripping over your own flip flops, who needs an eight ball to get the message, “Signs say doubtful?”
And still the energizer bunny in my hamster cage mind is going, going, going.
Got to get something written, have to get bug strips for the fruit fly invasion, should trim those hedges, want to organize the photo files, need to buy tin foil, must get toilet tissue, ought to purchase more stamps, want to return those phone calls. All of which are geared to set me up for the coulda, woulda, shoulda regretfest.
The list goes on long enough to occupy me entirely, like being laid out like a latke in an MRI session. Claustrophobia doesn’t stand a chance with me in that tunnel. Who has time to be scared? I’ve got my lists to contemplate. Going over them in my cranium and the next thing I hear after the tech has said, “Hold completely still, please,” is “OK, all done!” as they filch me out of the tube of magnetic resonance.
So much for my friend’s suggestion to ‘just let go and meditate; take advantage of the silence; just be.’
Now, here I am in this day, getting bombarded with every possible indicator that there will be no answers; no words out of my mouth or actions I may wish to take that will make a dent in the invisible duty roster or solve the challenges in my home, work or the world.
Balls are being dropped. Words won’t willingly come forth. Why grumble or grouse about it?
Might as well heed the call. Let go. Opt for some peace maybe.
This is not my wisdom face; sage, spiritual and serene.
I’m just too tired to argue.
It’s that kind of day. Silence sounds good.
And as I make this choice, rain begins to softly fall, hushing all.
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