Chaos Verses

Hello, I hope you enjoyed yesterday's post. The answer to the riddle is is getting fractionally closer, that 'one' answers seems to have turned into many answers that will with any luck all link up fairly soon. This is what I have discovered so far. When I wrote the book the 'Poet Tree' I had only just emerged from a very dark period of my life and I had been incredibly upset and confused for quite some time. I had always written in some form or another but when my life became easier and I found contentment, all of the things I had been trying to write about came out the way I had originally intended. I wrote during the dark times, as I call them, to try and remember all that is beautiful so that I didn't lose sight of all that is good in the world, I had lost faith in many things and hit the bottle pretty hard, which is another story entirely, the point is  a great deal of buried emotion was pouring out. This was reflected in the next two books 'Temples Of The Painted Mind' and 'Whispering Ink Song', and then finally as if in a poetic closing statement I wrote 'Scattered Parchment'. The other little book 'Tales From Hound's Eye' I wrote purely because of my love and respect for nature and as I may have said before, some poetic verse dedicated to nature, in particular some of the animals, was the least I could do. My visual art seems to have followed a similar pattern. The upshot of all this so far then is this; my latest book that I am currently working on is written from a place of clarity instead of chaos, the twist of this however is that due to the lack of internal chaos, external chaos seems to have in some respects taken it's place. Which would explain the sometimes overwhelming feeling that the entire world is entering my mind and pouring through my pen...the riddle is not fully answered though, I shall delve deeper.

Now And Here

Pens alone with paper rest,

poet's closed eye hovers above,

sigh forcing my zest,

await the writers flood.

Blood replacement ink,

quill replacement hand,

mind already scratching words,

leaving me unmanned.

I catch up to my sprinting thought,

 lost in imagination's breeze,

inspiration I had sought,

eager now to please.

The story rushes onward,

exhausted mind gives out,

beauty still hurries forward,

I scream the poem desert's shout.

Once again it has escaped me,

on thought's loop it disappears,

pen again awaits lapping return,

silent eye of now and here. 

©D.N.Read2013

 
I hope you enjoy the post and this poem I just wrote(weird just to type poetry, usually use the pen first) that sort of explains things as well.

Peace In All