I wrote a poem today for the first time in months. I had forgotten what a satisfying sensation it is to take a phrase, or an idea, and spin it out into something held together with a few choice words. (Well, I guess that's more of an ideal poem-composing situation than actual reality, but you get the picture. *smiles*)
I don't write enough. I know I don't, but more than that, I just haven't been creating enough lately. I've been so focused on the little pleasures of life (like watching a good TV show, or even a really lame TV show, or playing on my laptop, or *gasp* trying to figure out this whole scrapbooking thing). It's so easy to let my time get sucked into doing these things, none of which are bad, but if they make up your entire life, then you really don't have much substance. I guess that's kind of how I've been feeling lately--like my life has no real meat, no soul. It's been a cotton candy existence. Not unpleasant, certainly, and good in small doses, but with very little nutritional value--it melts into nothing the instant it is consumed.
Maybe that's why it was so good to write again--I did it during my lunch break while I was waiting for my chicken parmesan to be cooked. (Gosh, I love that stuff.) I was treating myself to a slightly nicer lunch than usual, since today was payday, and I felt rather rich. (Well, 'slightly rich' might be more accurate.)
Anyway, about a week ago, I had the chance to be one of two attendees at a piano recital my younger sister Joanna was giving. Her senior recital is this Saturday, but she's doing a few warm-up performances to give her a chance to perform her pieces before the main one. While watching her play, I noticed that the reflection of her hands and arms on the surface of the black piano almost looked like a painting, so I wrote down the observation on a program. Today, that observation evolved into a poem. It's not a very good poem, (I'm really not a very good poet), but the mindset that comes with condensing your words into a poetic format is stimulating, to say the least. I was glad I ate chicken parmesan today. Glad, at least, that it gave me a few moments to do some needed creation.
3 comments:
I haven't written a poem since I was single. I used to feel slightly comforted by remembering that Madeline L'engle said that she couldn't write while pregnant, that it was as if the creative juices were going towards other things (this is completely paraphrased) but I'm not pregnant, so why don't I write?
I have very few quiet moments. I think that's why.
Maybe I need to start eating chicken parmesan.
I don't even LIKE parmesan.
So...where's the poem?
You know...actually I think I lost it. Huh. Where DID I put that thing.... :^/
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