prising, slogging, digging



I try to write at night but mostly 
fall asleep before I can begin,
before I can achieve the proper
state of reverie, the space that
I crave to create, that I cannot 
seem to make the time or the 
energy for. But yes, the words 
whisper to me when I cannot 
catch them and slip away before
I can put them in their place,
before I can place them where
they will live and grow into more.



I put the parts of them in little boxes,
little bits of hair, a leaf dropped,
a bone perhaps, found in the soil,
slip them into a little book that I 
keep in my pocket to pull out
later, to try to form into something--
something more, something alive,
something that can find the light
to live when I can find the silence
that it needs to let it grow. My days
are far too noisy, my nights too short.



The soul trudges on, 
slogs through the mud of life with 
little time to dig.  

I offer these words to myself as 
a balm, a hand on the shoulder, 
a consolation in the true sense 
perhaps but without a prize to offer 
as I cannot prise the poems from their 
hidden places as often as I would like, 
as I feel I should, as I feel I need. 

The soul trudges on, 
slogs through the mud of life with 
little time to dig.  




21 thoughts on “prising, slogging, digging

  1. Yes, this perfectly expresses what we go through, why we need a time that is free from noise. This poem does work as a balm to soothe the angst caused by a locked up creative mind. You offer us a way to think about our words as organic material that needs certain environmental requisites to become mature thoughts, ripe thoughts.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you. Also, at least for me, there is the acceptance of letting things be as they are.
      It’s ok, sometimes, to miss out on things. To not beat one’s self up too much for not doing more. We are doing plenty.

      It is pointless to try and grow a garden in one concrete planter.

      A few pretty petunias
      are plenty.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I am fortunate to have the quiet space during the daylight hours when I can muster the energy to wrestle with the words. My nights have become too short and I miss them for the mysterious effect they had on my mind. I’d be young again if I could and I wouldn’t waste the opportunity the way I did the first time around.

    Liked by 1 person

    • My best writing, when I was doing it regular-like, happened Early in the morning. Like 5 or 6 am. Just can’t seem to get my but up that early. Sleep is too precious.
      Soon enough, maybe.
      And until then, this will do.

      Like

  3. I found a British group of writers who come close to the kind of group I think you have in mind. One problem they have – the group charges money to join, although that does keep the riff raff out. The critiques are amazing and sometimes discussion ranges far and wide from simple workshop conversation. I think we can do this with the right mix of people. It needs a balance of male and female voices and if possible some writers from different cultural backgrounds. The group will take time, like the words you describe in your poem, to become coherent and mature – I think it is worth a try or even more than just a try, a real exertion of creative muscle. I am thinking of some possible candidates: Eliot, Rivrlogr, Silvia, TDot, I know a Brazilian named Elias, there’s another woman who comments on Eliot’s site and probably more from his list of followers. We can get this off the ground, maybe, probably, even if we start with a group of four. It could grow into a real poetry salon over time.

    Liked by 1 person

    • This sounds like an excellent place to start.
      I have a bit of homework to do, setting the thing up technically speaking, theme, style, etc. but would greatly appreciate feedback on the ethereal bits. Well, the whole thing really.
      Got a few folks in mind as well. Would love to compare notes.
      Groovy if I email you? Would love to discuss this more deeply than in comments.

      Liked by 1 person

      • email is good – ronaldanne@thehumblehumanist.com
        I am psyched to see what you have in mind. The whole idea represents what I think writers/blogpoets/artists/photographers can do with a bit of electricity and bandwidth..

        A poet I met recently told me he was nailed to the cross for including a photograph with a poem…was told he is no better than a Hallmark card! The guy is a very good poet. Some people have weird and f’d up biases.

        Liked by 1 person

        • Hmmm…interesting. I had in mind just poets/poetry but multiple media would certainly flesh things out. Almost afraid that could turn into a beast too big to manage maybe but considering what happened to your recently met poet, perhaps this is just what is needed. That is a shame, and yes, people have some really provincial notions about the borders of their chosen arts. One of the reasons I love blogging so much, I think. I can (somewhat) easily say, “Screw them AND their rules!”
          I am working on unloading the entire concept of “legitimacy.” Tired of worrying about being a “real” poet.
          Popeye said it best: “I yam what I yam.”

          Liked by 1 person

          • Hey. I may be off here, but this sounds like Iron Poets – the blog we ‘ran’ a few years back… is this what you’re thinking?
            Keep in mind I’m a web developer and host websites – in case it’s helpful – and might be up for taking part…
            Poo, bum, willy…
            Sorry, in danger of being too normal there…

            Liked by 1 person

            • You are spot-on, sir. Pretty precisely. I say pretty because blogs are like flowers…..

              And I will definitely keep you in mind. I am still working out the details, the emphasis/emphases, the technical bits and where the hell I’ll find the time to do it, but yes something very much like Iron Poets is what I had in mind. Have just been talking about it with this fine fellow:

              https://poetryontherun.com

              who has offered his help/support.

              Will keep you posted. Probably be about 2020 before I get around to it.

              Zip, nickers, wanker-doodle.

              Like

  4. So well expressed, and a feeling so many of us have. For me, the angst of it lessened considerably when I retired – I can devote hour after hour to art. I was so frustrated before, and I appreciate your forgiveness of yourself, in the comment above too, for never being able to do “enough.” It IS enough.
    I love the way the photos complement the text here – that’s not easy to do. Love the whole thing, Johnny!

    Liked by 1 person

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