A life in Poem

Finding inspiration is not hard. Inspiration is everywhere. It’s almost overwhelming, leaving the studio to go outside. My being becomes totally overwhelmed by the grandeur and latitude of phenomena. And the gratitude that arises, eludes any was has been. Or any to have been, yet to be. It’s substantially exquisite nature could juice even the most unripe of lemons.

See, the poetry is already there, I merely a surgeon, slice it and present it to the world. The selection process, that has no process, is what’s slightly difficult. My life is poetry. Stories, constant. An infinite stanza, streaming poetry beating to beats of its own accord. It’s own language. Every gesture, activity, condition, sensation, is of a poetic nature.

It truly is spectacular to watch every day.

You’ll never hear ‘it’s about time I wrote some poetry’ nor ‘it is time I did some art’. Never. Allocating time for such activities seems rigid, and ‘work’ related. My whole day is a canvas, and it is most defiantly multi-media.

Finding inspiration in another person, especially that of a creative nature, for me is rare. I don’t know, I guess it’s theirs in a way, and I want my own. Awing and gahing over another artists work seems so pointless. Why not find your own. People can do these amazing things like sing, write, draw or walk a tightrope whilst breathing fire. But it does not mean I find inspiration in them. I feel happy for them, though, that they have found an avenue of self expression.

But it’s more. Maybe it is that, these people really haven’t found their personal poetic language, yet. And this has nothing to do with how you write poetry or anything for that matter. It’s to do with living. Life living. Knowing how to express to release is fantastic, it shifts such a burden, and aids in life digestion.

But not many have entered into the realm of composing. Composing their very own music, from their very own life language. The original poetic stream that is their very own. I haven’t met many true composers of life. Maybe I’m just overly judgemental. Or selfish. Or don’t get out enough.

Sharing this personal poetic beat, is something in itself. Part of me could splendour in its demean alone, but it is too beautiful for that. The poetry is of such magnificence and vivid pulsation that I would feel greedy to keep it from others. I also fear an inevitable gravitational collapse, and it’s unforseen black hole.

If two composers were to meet, composing one another, on their own accords, in their own language, poem, beat. Does their poetry rhythm stay unique, or do they turn obsolete?

A new rhythm. Perhaps.

21 responses to A life in Poem

    • Human – Author

      Hands you an ocean map, swimming cap… and then realises you can just borrow her submarine

  1. I think it’s difficult to be specific on the sources of our creativity, as many are unconsciously derived. Artists often claim, or think to themselves, that they are not influenced by other artists, and yet plagiarism works subtly at times, below the conscious threshold – a sort of ‘inadvertent kidnapping’. Who has the unique voice? Handel or Bach? Braque or Picasso? Byrd or Gibbons? Coltrane or Brecker? Mantegna or Bellini? There’s a lot of cross-fertilisation just there amongst the greats, which is no bad thing. 🙂

    • Human – Author

      yes your right, it defiantly does occur, personally though looking back at the greats was boring. But I feel they influence me, on another plane of existence? And sometimes artist’s knock on my hand door and have a play with the brush.

      I like the word cross-fertilisation very much so

      • Bellini is wandering down the microtubules in your brain perhaps Jessie?

        Or should that rather be ‘boring along’ them?

      • Human – Author

        I feel ashamed I don’t even know who that is !

        But it reminds me of a type of bean I have in the cupboard, and beans are wonderful, so going by that correlation, boring is defiantly wayside my friend!

      • Giovanni (Beany) was a better painter than his brother Gentile (both 15th.c. renaissance legumes), and perhaps of equal stature was the bean’s brother-in-law Andrea Mantegna. The old bean knocked this one off when he was 85 (dirty bugger):

      • Human – Author

        Renaissance Legumes = sensational, absolute dahl of a sensation!

        thank you for the link, will defiantly check it out 🙂

    • Human – Author

      imploding sounds delightful!

      Yes arms outward, a must, wind hair is so luxurious and full of nits to feed myself with

      • Human – Author

        Laughing so hard at the imagery that provided, then looked down, as I have a bad cough (laughing causes it to escalate), and there were tiny nit legs!

        I’ll crush them over my eggs for breakfast, and tell the salt its pepper, hopefully she’s gullible today

  2. towers
    from stacks of spaghetti
    in the boiling pot
    to all conceptual twists
    hearts to inner voices

  3. I love that feeling of getting inspired
    Not many people can voice that
    that’s really great to read
    That’s Jazz
    The Sheldon Perspective

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