You know… writers are strange people. I don’t mean that in any kind of bad way necessarily, but we are all a little odd in some form. Most of my visitors and followers are all writers with great variations of content. If you consider yourself a writer, I can almost be assured that you consider yourself to be somewhat different from the norm. Okay, let’s just blurt it out here and say that we’re all a little ‘odd’. The rebels, the protestors, the one’s that tend to ‘go against the system,’ the one’s that will by no means follow the crowd, those of us who often do what others advise us not to, the ones who seek out the unknown while everyone else is content with the status quo, the ugly ducklings… that’s us… the writers of blogs, the writers of novels, the writers of short stories and the writers of works of art that nobody really knows what they were thinking when they wrote it. We’re a breed of our own and we’re proud of it. Anyone who can shamelessly place her or his deepest emotions and thoughts into print for the world to read… “ain’t right”. Who would do that sort of thing??? And in public format??? Writers… that’s who.
All of us possess dual personalities and sometimes wander far into the multiple personality range as we often become the characters of our writings from within our own imaginations. We delve into the darkness and then suddenly blind our readers with the light. Sometimes we become so very lost inside those imaginations that we find it a difficult task to force ourselves to return to reality. When we do, we often produce some of our most profound work. Then, sometimes, after reading our own works of art, we come to the realization, like many of our readers often do, that we’re just plain full of shit…
Tonight I’d like to offer a poem that you may find difficult to perceive in the manner that it was intended if you only give it one quick reading. I’ve observed people reading it and usually after their first reading, their eyes squint a little, their line of vision often drifting to one side or the other for a few moments, pondering what they just read, and then the expression on their faces changes to an image of “What the hell does this mean?”
As always, your comments are welcome. The comment button is located at the top of the post.
Go ahead… let me have it.
To Calm the Minds of Poets
Poetry inspires the heart,
And the smart enough to know better,
Than to play with minds of scholars,
Whose hollers haven’t sounded in some time.
The heart inspires the melody,
Or the rhapsody, in blooming fields of heather,
To calm the minds of poets,
Who know it won’t go on without the rhyme.
Melody inspires the love,
As the mourning-dove, reflecting dawn through dew drops,
Awakening the hands of artists,
Whose pallets haven’t bred a sprig of thyme.
Copyright © 2014 Steven Michael Sanders
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Have an inspiring evening!!!