Thrive Thursdays: Last Minute Right On Times

 

 

It is often "funny frustrating" to me how the creative process chooses to work, how and when it chooses to make you the "creator". As though the creative process takes on a life essence of its self and, not bothering to whisper, shouts loud and clear "You there! You are MY muse. Now it is time to have my way with you." This means rain or shine, 8:30 morning calls or burning the midnight oil...you are essentially the creative process's bitch. My what a whirlwind adventure that can be is!

 

I have had words brewing and mingling with the season's inspirations for a couple of days now. It was unclear whether they would present themselves as a poem or an essay of sorts. After the lazy day I had (thank you Hulu for helping me discover you have America's Next Top Model...a weak spot for me) I was left wondering what the heck is Thrive Thursday going to be about. Let's take honesty a step further...I was in tears. The creative process timing can be discouraging, but there is nothing like the words of your Mum and a humbling prayer "Lord give me words for thriving today," to turn things around.

As my tweet from post-Thrive stated "A walk in the woods demands a camera, flip-flops (a girls gotta be 1 w/ nature ;), note taking apparatus (ie phone w/ #Evernote) #prepared." When in doubt...take a walk on a beautiful Autumn day, camera in tow and let the moment take ahold of you. Remember the brewing words? How about a poem?!? A poem? How sweet. What poem would that be?*

Autumn Is

**

Autumn is

A hailing specimen from the halls of

Eric the Red, they call him blood

His might unquestioned

Festooned with a warrior's reapings

He is a crisp and bone depth nectar of his ancestors

 

Autumn is

A walking figure among the throngs

Of knowledge hungry Yale and Harvard minors

He is hidden there, silent and bidding

Donning fishermen sweaters and rimmed wisdom

Giant and unwavering as a tree

Fire branded roots and bearded fiercely

Perhaps a pirate, searching for earth's time, that he may bed her

Capturing, besting that which he would have always

 

Autumn is

A musk pervading the senses with his harvests

He is basking baked delight

A glowing presence in the window of a chilling breath

The shrill echoes of a child's memory

Weaving savvy, a sweet containment

 

Autumn is

Patient as he salvages

Kissing Summer's envy

The punching crunch heard on every corner

You must not forget him

 

Autumn is

Thin steel fingers mercifully cold

Bone chilling, larger than mine

His grounding is inducing

Beard trimmings littering the ground

Mementos left for finding

Piled high for leaps and bounds

His fire left to warm the rough comings

 

Autumn is

Soulless

Bit by bit shedding his soul

Sacrificing to an unrelenting earth

His heart it be not black, but a frenzied canopy of a red sire's offspring

The fire and flesh, the dying and the sleeping.

 

Autumn is my master.

 

 

Is it obvious I'm quite infatuated with Autumn? (insert wink)

Photography me got to have some fun too!

 

 

Thriving Moments: Letting the creative process take its good ole' sweet time. A poem and pictures.

Tweet with me. | Snap some shots. | Listen to the music. | Get to pinning | Up, Up and Plus

 

 

“I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.”

~L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

 

 

Footnotes (who wants to knit me some socks?):

• *Matilda of course!
• **This is an original poem by ME, Maddie. Victory Dance
• Music - Liz Lawrence. You must listen to her music!