Childhood’s edge – juice, jammies and a slam…

“Morning.  I begin writing today in the morning but will most likely end this evening.*  You learn as you age that that seems to be the progression.  Dim lightbulb of a thought, initial excitement, immediate action, slight momentary distraction and then….damn! out of time.  You then tell yourself  “I’ll be back“.  Except when you return to those first words, who you were at the moment of conceptualization is gone.  Can you recapture the essence of the “original” idea?  Can you reassimilate the feelings that were hovering around you as those first words began to type themselves?  Most likely not.  If an idea, post, story or poem is not written in one sitting what then?  Does it lessen the final product?  Could it have been better “before”?  No way to tell.

So what is one to do?  Not worry about it.  If words tug and pull like an insistent child then, as with a child, take a little time to find out what the tugging is all about.  Sometimes it can wait, sometimes not.  Following are some words that appeared Sunday last, not screaming obnoxiously, but bugging me just the same.   So for something different may I present: 

Once upon a Sunday”

“It used to be just me
 and Sundays
 2 cats and coffee
 early morning lazy
 sun breaking, then shining
 streaming light and lightness
 throughout my square of solace
 a peaceful palette
 for words to be put upon
 as I was certainly not
 put upon
 to sit and write
 with 1 cat draped upon my arm
 this time
 my other feline friend was out
 out of doors
 and windows
 and walls of confinement
 he roamed and wandered
 as did I
 until words and phrases
 filled my palette
 with feelings for the day”
(GirlieOnTheEdge)

*What’d I tell you! It”s almost 8:00 p.m. in my part of the world and only now will I push the button.  Enjoy.  G

 

Advertisements

14 thoughts on “Childhood’s edge – juice, jammies and a slam…

  1. Glenn

    cool poem. Here’s one:

    title: Secret Kept

    The girl from New Smyrna sat in the lot
    A Florida night so sultry and hot.
    A conference call captured her curious mind
    Questions were asked of a personal kind.
    She answered most boldly ..a real good sport.
    But the last one left her without a retort.
    The inquisitor inquisited and insisted of her
    That she answer the question and not be demure.
    But she dodged it and we’ll never know what that means.
    She kept her secret inside those black jeans.

    I can poetize too. You do it gooder though. I love the attempts in this blog to make words behave in elegant ways. I hope you give us more. I have a feeling you might be holding out on us. Give us ALL of it. Hold nothing in reserve. It’s not just the words. The ideas, the thoughts, the musings—-Universal stuff I think. I’m drawn to it. “Please…May I have more…?”

    1. There once was a boy who was hungry
      For anything new and sundry
      He would ride once a week
      In search of a treat
      But nothing could he find
      To satisfy his mind…
      Try and try, such the bad boy
      Did he not know he was simply a toy
      For the girl from New Smyrna, a clark through and through
      Puzzled this boy
      Who just didn’t know what to do
      A mystery for certain this girl far away
      Black jeans and boots what more can she say

      Yes, yes you can (poetize) my friend:) Thank you for your comment.

  2. AKH

    i agree that it is difficult to “recapture the essence of the original” idea. that being said, when i have an idea but it is disjointed i write down what i’m talking about and the “key words” that i want to get back to. but none can be as eloquent as yours. you literally take the reader into your world with image evoking narrative. excellent.

    1. I have tried writing down ideas or simply a phrase or word thinking I can (will) go back to it when I have time or am able. More often than not though I just cannot pick up the thread again. Moment lost as they say.
      I appreciate your compliment Ms. AKH and will always try my best to write so that readers may, like you, be transported somewhere else:)

  3. Nice. Easy rythym to it, understated, like an Eric Clapton solo. Leaves me undecided as to whether I’d want to be the inside or the outside cat.
    Laugh- out-freaking- loud…listen to me passing commentary on a poem. That’s a first. As if…
    Who the #$@% do I think I am??

    1. Now wait just a minute there mister! You’re the one responsible for this here poetry post!
      And thank you for that. A nice diversion. Why shouldn’t you be “passing commentary on a poem”? They’re only words. I suppose I do have to call it a poem. How else would I present those words?
      As to inside or outside? Advantages to both for sure….
      Wowee! I feel honored you used Clapton as reference.

      P.S. You’ll always have street cred here:)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s