why do you create?
- Doreen Peri
- Site Admin
- Posts: 14601
- Joined: July 10th, 2004, 3:30 pm
- Location: Virginia
- Contact:
why do you create?
(conversation with myself october 2004)
why do you create?
is it something innate
or learned?
this problem's answer
i've yet to discern.
are you forced to make
something new by
an element?
by wind?
how do you know
where to stop –
how to begin?
_____________
i create an evening's
answers from dust.
we are all creators.
all of us.
_____________
but who created the dust?
who created the wind?
your breath on a pane?
your handwave?
the must be made?
or who or what?
_____________
i create a morning's thrust
from below the day. i rise
like daystars, day, the repetition,
day the reason, the mission,
day, the seasoned meal
eaten, swallowed whole
by sunset
_____________
but why do you create?
is there mating in an answer?
do you fashion your product
like a dancer owns
a leap? or do you
simply keep
silent - speak
sentiments to
sillouhettes
without reply?
__________
yes,
but i
do not
know why.
i am the secret lair where
i dare to lie, i am sacred scrawls
on tie-dyed sheet skin, places
to be other than this attempt
to answer.
__________
i cannot argue with fortitude
or such connected wealth.
i am baffled since i do not
know, myself.
if creativity
is born with breath,
than how can we
consider the mastery
of a disaster imagined?
or worse.
how can you possibly
answer this verse?
___________
verses can be mastered
not spoken out of turn.
creation is something innate,
not learned.
why do you create?
is it something innate
or learned?
this problem's answer
i've yet to discern.
are you forced to make
something new by
an element?
by wind?
how do you know
where to stop –
how to begin?
_____________
i create an evening's
answers from dust.
we are all creators.
all of us.
_____________
but who created the dust?
who created the wind?
your breath on a pane?
your handwave?
the must be made?
or who or what?
_____________
i create a morning's thrust
from below the day. i rise
like daystars, day, the repetition,
day the reason, the mission,
day, the seasoned meal
eaten, swallowed whole
by sunset
_____________
but why do you create?
is there mating in an answer?
do you fashion your product
like a dancer owns
a leap? or do you
simply keep
silent - speak
sentiments to
sillouhettes
without reply?
__________
yes,
but i
do not
know why.
i am the secret lair where
i dare to lie, i am sacred scrawls
on tie-dyed sheet skin, places
to be other than this attempt
to answer.
__________
i cannot argue with fortitude
or such connected wealth.
i am baffled since i do not
know, myself.
if creativity
is born with breath,
than how can we
consider the mastery
of a disaster imagined?
or worse.
how can you possibly
answer this verse?
___________
verses can be mastered
not spoken out of turn.
creation is something innate,
not learned.
- Lightning Rod
- Posts: 5211
- Joined: August 15th, 2004, 6:57 pm
- Location: between my ears
- Contact:
- Doreen Peri
- Site Admin
- Posts: 14601
- Joined: July 10th, 2004, 3:30 pm
- Location: Virginia
- Contact:
- Lightning Rod
- Posts: 5211
- Joined: August 15th, 2004, 6:57 pm
- Location: between my ears
- Contact:
Lrod Creates Shit
every morning I create
first I get in a meditative state
and then it's like a symphony
in three movements
first the allegro which comes out clean
and states the theme
then the andante
slower to savor
what I ate yesterday
a subtle flavor
and then the presto
which comes out fast
and requires more tissue
it's really quite a blast
every morning I create
first I get in a meditative state
and then it's like a symphony
in three movements
first the allegro which comes out clean
and states the theme
then the andante
slower to savor
what I ate yesterday
a subtle flavor
and then the presto
which comes out fast
and requires more tissue
it's really quite a blast
- gypsyjoker
- Posts: 1458
- Joined: May 26th, 2005, 9:01 am
- Location: stilltrucking's vanity
- Contact:
I wish I knew
what it is I do
hard to think of it as creating.
I don'tthinks so
what it is I do
hard to think of it as creating.
I don'tthinks so
Last edited by gypsyjoker on May 4th, 2008, 6:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Free Rice
Avatar Courtesy of the Baron de Hirsch Fund
'Blessed is he who was not born, Or he, who having been born, has died. But as for us who live, woe unto us, Because we see the afflictions of Zion, And what has befallen Jerusalem." Pseudepigrapha
Avatar Courtesy of the Baron de Hirsch Fund
'Blessed is he who was not born, Or he, who having been born, has died. But as for us who live, woe unto us, Because we see the afflictions of Zion, And what has befallen Jerusalem." Pseudepigrapha
- constantine
- Posts: 2677
- Joined: March 9th, 2008, 9:45 am
- gypsyjoker
- Posts: 1458
- Joined: May 26th, 2005, 9:01 am
- Location: stilltrucking's vanity
- Contact:
I don't know what this thing is in me Mark, this thing that drives me. I think it is science, not art
A passionate curiosity.
A passionate curiosity.
Free Rice
Avatar Courtesy of the Baron de Hirsch Fund
'Blessed is he who was not born, Or he, who having been born, has died. But as for us who live, woe unto us, Because we see the afflictions of Zion, And what has befallen Jerusalem." Pseudepigrapha
Avatar Courtesy of the Baron de Hirsch Fund
'Blessed is he who was not born, Or he, who having been born, has died. But as for us who live, woe unto us, Because we see the afflictions of Zion, And what has befallen Jerusalem." Pseudepigrapha
I used to write. I put it away for 17 years. I only started writing again last fall.
I used to write in my teens.
Words poured from my soul
onto the page in great fluid streams
of feeling and love and anger
of hopes, goals, and dreams.
Looking back, I know not
how or why it ceased
how 17 years I stopped
and existed without expression
on paper caught.
In turmoil, I found me again
and began writing once more
by chance picking up a pen-
poetry saving my soul
becoming closest friend.
I write to feed a part of me
that without words will wither
into nothing, poetry
soothes the soul and
allows me to breathe.
I used to write in my teens.
Words poured from my soul
onto the page in great fluid streams
of feeling and love and anger
of hopes, goals, and dreams.
Looking back, I know not
how or why it ceased
how 17 years I stopped
and existed without expression
on paper caught.
In turmoil, I found me again
and began writing once more
by chance picking up a pen-
poetry saving my soul
becoming closest friend.
I write to feed a part of me
that without words will wither
into nothing, poetry
soothes the soul and
allows me to breathe.
immeasurable...illogical...infinity squared
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