sometimes I re-read things i once wrote and at first
thought they are grammatically wrong until i realize what it was i meant
Chagall 2017
Tag Archive: writing process
To undo writers’ block
write about your writer’s block
Interject
a compelling thought
Choose from:
a. Submit to the block, go cook, play guitar, kiss or slide into third (wink)
(Question to Self: will Dear Reader understand the preceding allusion?)
b. Go around, far-away and aslant of the block. Need I say more?
(Note to Self: probably will need to say more)
c. Crash through the block like a modern-day avenger: Fuck you, Block!
And there you have it.
Best regards for an incredible Friday!
—CC
One more morning
I’ll write. Gray,
sure. Air with the
same scent and feel
as that day, you bet.
The need – the ache –
to hold onto anything
that doesn’t slip away.
Perhaps the living is
easy and the writing
tougher.
Sound attests
to the existence of time
as sure as motion does
yet so much timelessness
in the rustle, the whisper
of leaves on canopy branches
high among the zephyrs. I
grow dizzy to imagine myself
there at the top looking down.
Maybe I’ll feel more today and
write less about it, pull in
the shutters, the sash.
Still, here on the inside
I fashion small chips
of graphite into pencil
an essential element
to build strong bones.
With enough sun and love
a stand of kindred spirits
can endure forever.
© Chagall ∞
I hate my Moleskin tablet
just way too much pressure
to get getting it right
the first
time
© Chagall ∞
A thin line separates
thought from written word.
© Chagall ∞
(Inspired by a comments exchange with Celestine @ Reading Pleasure)
This line is in memory of hundreds of lines undone,
erased, deleted, made gone
And what has emerged but meta-prose,
writing on writing
© Chagall ∞
My drafts hold nothing of interest, some nonsense I scribbled
in a vain attempt to infer Sara from the existence of stars,
some ambiguous mumbo (tiny, not jumbo) plus
a line about life in the canopy over
fields at the apex of gloaming.
Nothing of value to work with here
so I turn to birdsong to quell
my ache for expression.
© Chagall ∞
I’m exploring why this one particular
poem of my own makes me cry.
© Chagall ∞
This very rough draft alternates haiku from Love found-lost-found and The birth and death of stars in preparation for subsequent massaging into A form called Loku. I am always surprised by the creation of new imagery that arises from this very mechanical step of the process. —CC
Stars are formed in clouds
Of gas and dust, nebulae
Nuclear at core
The eddies mist cold
Lavender melts under snow
Bleeds purple on white
Stars provide enough
Energy brightly for years
The exact lifetime
Silence glistens here
Chilled pools beckon promising
Reflection under
We are born of stars
So proud until we pulsar
When fusion ceases
Among all two find
A sense of having been there
Empathetic eyes
Eons erase hope
What once would light forever
Turns to gamma ray
Shall never lose me
Shouts beyond the din recede
To vast empty stretch
Pridefully suns sear
Hot too fast, too self-consumed
No cheeks yet to burn
Circular water
Too near the edge of the falls
The promise to drown
Godspeed is lightspeed
We see until we are blind
Not invisible
Holding fast they plunge
In momentary freefall
Defying the crush
We are dark matter
More of us than meets the eye
Feel our gravity
Two plummet headfirst
Upturned soles to God’s heaven
The tickle of love
Ripped seams in space-time
Blessed beings emerge headfirst
The dead prefer breach
Plumes of graceful froth
Envelop twin beating hearts
Up until the sere
Nothing left to burn
Suns die everyday out here
To leave voids of love
Suddenly without
Love’s denouement sings sadly
Still ache crescendos
Massive cores collapse
Passages to yesterday
Bridges to Other
Melody solo
Lost, searching harmonically
Hearts rapt atonal
When stars burn cooler
Life has opportunity
Everywhere blue worlds
Shall never find me
Resounds off wet chamber walls
Where echos loiter
The scent of Goddess
Permeates all creation
Sweet salinity
A flickering flame
Somewhere a flue, air to breathe
Pinpoint light quite dim
Life is atmosphere
Creatures born to see the light
Watercolorists
Ascension too fast
Lungs explode before tongues meld
Alive once again
Fine pointillism
Clarity from a distance
Planets at the edge
Shout hallelujah
Frenzied oxygenation
Salt water on lips
Accelerating
Behind us time looms ahead
Wrapped implicitly
Love again refrains
Adrift on sunny sandbars
Palm fruits, dates, acai
We are young again
Stellate beings thrice reborn
Twice kissed we are alone
Two swimmers azure
Water beaded sky blues hope
Refracted visions
Before words we were
Nothing, pointed subtlety
Essentially stars
Will never lose me
Mouthed indistinguishably
There underwater
Alphabet City 