Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe…

Inspire:  breathe in

Inspire:  fill someone with the urge or ability to do or feel something, especially to do something creative

Writers look for inspiration everywhere.  In some of my previous posts I’ve mentioned finding inspiration in music, in art, and in my own personal life experiences.  Having your senses stimulated this way, often fires your creative process.  There’s another way, though…

Like the rest of you, my life is busy and my mind can be a very noisy and messy place.  It can get to the point where it feels like I can’t catch my breath.  Maybe even like I’m under water.  When that happens, it’s time to take a break and find some quiet time.  For me, that means getting outside, no matter the weather.  Walking the country roads past the crumbling old walls that line the pastures, I let my mind wander.  There’s a fallen down barn on the dirt road about a mile away.  The red-tailed hawks perch on the half-rotted beams and watch for field mice and rabbits in the tall grass.  The wind sighing, the birds singing, the chatter of the squirrels is the only music to my ears.  Cross the creek, rushing with last night’s rain.  The smell of damp leaves, the early spring mud, all loamy and decayed.

Breathe it in deeply.  Inspire…

Maybe you live in the city and can’t get out into nature that easily.   Go out and walk the sidewalks, enjoy the sunshine, the hum of traffic, the jostle of people hurrying to their destinations.  Spend an hour, if you have it, without your phone.  Ignore the texts, e-mails and alerts for a while.  They’ll be there when you get back.  Find a park, sprawl on a bench, listen to the buzz of conversations going on around you, the laughter of children playing.  Let it be like white noise, vague and mesmerizing.

Inspire…

Now go home and write something beautiful.

The Engineer

Old men who have foolish ideas and no self control
Old women who play the victim and sulk
Middle aged men who want to walk away
Middle aged women who live vicariously through their children
Brave young men who try to pick up the torch
Brave young women who fight for their rights
Children who have no idea what they’re in for
Babies who are innocently self absorbed

And last: the caretaker who overcharges for his services

All of them get on a speeding train
The tracks abruptly end six miles ahead
But the engineer jumps at the last minute
Preserving his life alone
The crowd observing this catastrophe
Congratulates him on a job well done
And he’s given the key to the city
Drinks on the house
As everyone turns their backs on the smoking ruin

This poem, if you want to call it that, is as close as I’ve ever come to automatic writing. You dear reader are welcome to interpret it any way you like. 

Sea To See

No longer an ocean between us
Only a turbulent sea
My light infiltrates your darkness
But it’s still too murky to see

No forest or mountains oppose us
Nor rivers that run to the sea
Your light penetrates my darkness
Not quite enough to see

With the water beckoning to us
Who’s the first to dip into the sea?
Your darkness my lightness coalesce 
And it’s all that we need to see