#NaPoWriMo #GloPoWriMo Day 8
The poise with which
We must live life
Oft eclipsed by its strife
Is to embrace all
The Autumnal shades
As the wisest of us
Have eventually learned
It can’t always be Spring
Poetry inspired by the book cover for Walter Crane. A Floral Fantasy in an Old English Garden. London: Harper, 1899
#NaPoWriMo #GloPoWriMo Day 5
All through the days so cold
I wanted to write
But the words had died
Slithering away in a whirlpool
Of frantic anxiety;
I stood at the threshold
Surrounded by the bellows of
Unrelenting stress and misery
I could barely stay afloat
Wallowing in fear and self-pity,
When they knocked at my door
I struggled to make sense
Of those jumbled letters.
So, I shut them all out –
Now no one will ever know
The stories those words told!
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#NaPoWriMo #GloPoWriMo Day 3
Tread gently and stay for a while
The crisp summer air beckons
Emerald trees tip their branches
Swaying leaves give a nod
Hear the birdsong in the breeze
Sunkissed glades, always serene
Look around you, notice the pace
It’s tender, slow, in a lazy way
We pursue and embrace chaos
The hustle and hassle of our days
Sleepless, hopeless, washed away
Riding a storm, dropped like debris
A wild goose chase; always in a hurry
Our souls are tired; we know it all
The entire futility, yet we cannot
Tread gently and come to a halt
Poetry inspired by the book cover designed by Walter Crane for A Masque of Days. London: Cassell and Co., 1901 by Charles Lamb.
I sat there on the iron bench
Amidst the large concrete pots
Overflowing with seasonal flowers
The evening sun shone
On my tired face; for a moment
I looked up from my phone
Pausing the search for a cab
And the frantic need to be home
All around me, I could see
Hunched shoulders, quick footfall
Towards the exit gate.
And what for?
To run away from the fatigue
Of a hectic day at work
Or to rush into another con call
With an unending to-do list
I sat there rooted in silence
Aware of the breathing
Of the weary and their worry
I wondered where all this leads;
Why we never stopped to see
The radiant blooms of Spring –
Wilting sooner than ever
In the heat of our distress
Writers often lament writer’s block and procrastination as colossal hurdles to a regular writing practice. While both hold a genuine place in the writers’ list of woes, it is my experience that nothing is a bigger enemy of the creative journey than ill-disposed mental health. One can create masterpieces in sorrow and carve out brilliant art in happiness but it is hard to get a grip on artistic pursuits when one is stressed or anxious.
Since mid-November 2022 until now I have been struggling – first with a long spell of flu that lasted for a month and a half. Then, somewhere during this difficult time, debilitating worry and paranoia found their way into my life. I was trapped in a maze of repetitive thoughts and stress-induced negativity. I tried many things to heal my mind but it was a lonely journey.
The biggest casualty of my mental ill-health was my poetry. I realize how delicate a device poetry is. It demands total dedication. A disrupted mental frame cannot do justice to the pursuits of the poet.
One of the tools recommended for mindfulness and healing is journaling. I do vouch for its benefits but that is a post for another day. What I discovered amidst these trials was that for me story writing is closer to journaling.
As my physical health gradually recovered after Christmas, I came across the Penfluenza 3.0 contest by WriteFluence. I decided to start writing because the theme of Ritual called out to me. Each day, I poured a lot of love and care into my draft. It slowly became a healthy diversion. My mind would be at ease at least in those crafting moments. The story itself was therapeutic.
My efforts were worthwhile because when the contest results were declared, I was glad to know that my short story was one of the winning entries. Today, I received a heartwarming message that the anthology that contains my short story is now available for purchase. Read about The Selection of a Sacred Strawberry.
Meanwhile, I tried to go back to my favorite daily activity of writing for poetry prompts. It didn’t happen. Thoughts arrived wrapped in imagery but the words wouldn’t manifest. I felt for my forsaken blog but when you are broken, you can’t create a piece that is as fragile as poetry. Short story, in my case, was the sturdier sibling of the poem!
This weekend, I returned to my blog to publish a book review. Some words formed and then they started to string together. I am not sure if I will be able to write frequently because unresolved issues still camp in my mind space. But I am trying – each day – to let go of what I cannot control and to get a grip on the things I can create.
Blue Pen Strokes 