Tags
2011, 5*, acceptance, mind, sitting
I sit for thirty minutes
not quite realising that
I am a solid block of stone
shaped right-angled
right-angled
stained right-angled
lichen smoothed right-angled
maybe even noticeabl–no but
nevertheless far too heavy to lift
and after thirty minutes
right-angled
acceptance wormhole: underneath
mind wormhole: distraction
sitting wormhole: travelling is fresh
mlewisredford 
Blue Girl and I have discussed how your not getting many likes But I think you don’t care about that, just the art is what I think just the art of writing for…
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it’s kind of you to reflect about it; I cannot be as noble as you suggest – I look at my tidy little tally of likes and then look at the soaring brick walls of ‘freshly pressed’ and wonder what it is that I haven’t got … REALLY wonder; still, you can’t argue with statistics in this outcomes-measured world – I’ll have to start writing recipes or talk about my cute dog …
actually, on reflection, and without getting too opera-dramatic about it (it’s going to sound like it anyway, hey ho), this seems to be a prevalent theme in my work (my life, my … everything – I am my own installation!!!): having something to give to the world but not quite sure that I fully exist in this world to which I am offering; I either don’t quite seem to be heard or I put people off; in fact I named the blog in which I explore the difficulty of making contact with the very work I do in teaching ghostteachers – I get even fewer likes there
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Hey, Lewis,
Really great post, readers and comments.
I am not particularly known for continuity, hey? I have been very busy, big things happened within my communities and you gotta be there. Busy season for me. Have been unble to spend much Time online and have been flummoxed with technical difficulties when I do. Find getting to my fave blogs is getting a bit tricky.
I’ll always be back in my own Time. I should post something on my blog to this effect? Because even though my posts may be black I’m always okay — even when I’m not. *shrug* 😋 lol
Groovy-good poetry, as always.
Hope you had a great day! 💋
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It’s the right angle, sir.
Coming along with you is like falling down down on scraping stones.
A little to literary for main crowd.
I’m a masochist, I guess.
No heart flowers, and butterfly sugar.
Your journey to connect, feels and it thrills me
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you are very kind and I value your company a lot
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It all happens in the poem. : ) ; )
They are alive.
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actually, I’ve just re-read what you said, ‘like falling down down on scraping stones’ and that is something I hadn’t really appreciated – too squirled up in my own biography; an ‘abaisement’, a putting-onto-the-groundfloor, even slightly underground; I truly appreciate this observation
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Interesting.
We are all up in our biography, sir. Why do you think I like it? Reminds me of me. lol
An image of myself when I closed my eyes wondering why I felt uncomfortable, and around me, discomfort.
the image was of me nesting a soft downy nest to be comfortable in. Yet, if any relaxing happened, sharp stones underneath the softness would pop a lung or something. I was walking on my own eggshells. No one knew were to step or sit or lay. To much treacherous fluff.
This image felt horribly true. I set about ditching the fluff, dealing with sharp rocks, and crap in my space. See, my biography. ; ) Your rocks are different.
You created a space I know. A rocky challange that I remember, and I can inhabit, in wonder feeling your treacherous, hiking trip to wonderful with your images. Least yours isn’t covered with fluff. I got a chance to experience this minus the crap load of fluff. Nice.
For this I thank you.
Rhyme in some fun!
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