Long Nights Feed the Muse #writing #foundpoetry

When mid-September arrives I feel the anxious pull of letting go. As autumn calls forth the fire of summer in one last quick burst of color, I can’t help but feel a tug of melancholy watching life give way to the elements of the season. Then winter plunges life into a deep freeze and somehow I relax into the slow pace of darkness. It is is the season of the writer and the poet. A time to give way completely to the magic of night and let the imagination travel where it will.

Millie welcomes a warm lap beside the fire

The inner fire kindles alongside the hearth fire, both ignited to keep the “home” warm. Outer distractions lesson their draw as the cold calls the body inside to keep warm. These days my daily walks with the dogs are brisk and quick, unless I give into their appetite for gnawing at “stick-sicles.”

First snow

A pause allows the sight to expand and sometimes eyes meet in acknowledgement.

“Tree Eye”

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to live in a place without clearly defined seasons. Perhaps I would get used to the extremes of a nearly endless summer or winter, but it is more likely I would feel restless with waiting for change. The body and mind get used to cycling and the ebb and flow it offers. Growth wants to circle back to decay before new growth occurs. As a writer, I rely upon the seasons. Summer gives me permission to turn outward and enjoy life unconfined. To take a reprieve from the page waiting for words and give way to the sun’s joy. Fall, in turn, prepares the nest for the enveloped life.

An autumn chickadee prepares for winter

Digging into the folds of darkness is much easier in winter. One must welcome the night or perhaps go mad trying to ward it off. Then spring arrives just in time to awaken the sluggish body back to life. Winter is long here, but not quite too long.

The cat disagrees

It begins for us with my daughter’s birthday, which falls in early December. Soon after, we set up the Dicken’s village and fairy lights are lit inside and outside the house. Even though my children are no longer tiny, the season still feels magical.

Soon after it is set-up the village is rearranged by Millie

Although I do miss traveling, the colder weather offers an excuse to hunker down and stay put. Most days I’m content to sit beside the fire and create even when it’s not always in the form intended. I seem to be at another impasse with the WIP, not quite sure how the protagonists are going to cross their paths again and when. As I wait for them to tell me, I turn to other endeavors.

The coloring books and pencils have reappeared, another WIP

I have friend, a fellow Indie author, who is encouraging me to grow my Instagram presence. She tells me I can’t simply post pretty photos without relevance and so I am urging the muse to try new directions. In the process, I’m finding short poems through erasure to post. The eye searches for words that pull while the hand blackens newsprint. It offers a strangely satisfying means to create something new out of what already exists. Rebirthing text in new form, I often find myself inside the process.

Today’s found poem

Big Brand Fire

Big Brand Fire

an erasure poem created from an Associated Press article by Julhas Alam

hooded Mickey Mouse
from Disney
Faded Glory
hip-hop
tag
Bangladesh. 112
killed
amid blackened
tables and melted sewing ma-
chines. Fashions
Ltd.

without authorization
without ap-
proval
comment

spotlight dan-
ger
with no
clear answers
react
the
way a
bear
argues
insist on
standards
direc-
t
Human Rights

pro-
tect workers as vigorously as
labels

the desperate
poor turning
low-priced products
shoppers
enjoy
the
ghastly
blaze

Protesters Unite

Part 2

after the storm
spread
 
relief
a stream
shuttled to
desperate areas
 
“Attention!
…they
do it for free”
 
see a need and
fill it
 
line
bandages and bottles
behind a tattered curtain
 
retrieve
 
phenomenal
community

Another erasure poem adapted from The Associated Press article, “Wall Street protestors unite to help victims of storm,” by Meghan Barr