»
Archives
»
Open Poetry #23
»
The Fresh Air Of Creative Writing
| Open Poetry #23 |
|
The Fresh Air Of Creative Writing |
|
|
D.Lester Young Senior Member
since 2001-12-08
Posts 1219Austin, Tx |
The Fresh Air Of Creative Writing In the magic that is writing, the world it creates opens things up, like a breath of fresh air on a Spring day. The blossom of words coming together brings a garden of delight that is an ever changing scene. In the storms that refresh my mind, yet can also torment me so, I want to fertilize my thoughts with greater intensity, sometimes almost getting on the verge of getting burned out. But when I can see the results of tender loving care that creates such varieties of ever increasing delight, the hypnotic effects draws its noose around me. So in an addiction of pleasure, with the pain of not being recognized, not as a great writer but one worth a look or two, the garden of my arrangement continues to try to attract new readers. So in what I do to fulfill my own writing fantasies. I want to create in others, taking them to even higher levels that will take their writing way beyond my feeble attempts and into the heavens where true paradises are created to be never forgotten. In my arrogance to succeed sometimes I get things so wrong that some stray away not seeing my true purpose. In the irony that is my personal identity, a lot will see me as selfish and uncaring. They do not see the frustrations of an ever increasing tormented mind that rides roller coasters. From the dark clouds that hang around me, creating such negative static charges that drain me of needed energy to pull away, I have learned to exist. I get my moments of sunshine when my mind works on others, who see the seeds being implanted in them of the intensity of my writing. But looking over my shoulder the fatal attraction of my own gloom grows in its intensity into such a raging storm that I must hurry up and hide. Waiting for it to find its direction that will take me off course. I pray that sooner but probably a lot later, I will drift into that lagoon of my true purpose, protected by the mountains that care for a lonely heart. In this paradise my spirit will finally dance in the words of my naked truth. Words unhindered by others, existing in the raw power of being myself. Not being afraid of my manhood to rise in words of pure pleasure or any other expressions of artistic freedoms. In my work place they have nicknamed me “troll”, I am sure this is not meant to be flattering. It is done in that special way in how people can group together, giving a kick while you are down. Sometimes it is due to jealousies of the fact that you are trying to better yourself in mostly fairy tales. Most people do not try to understand but leave it to others to explain things to them, not having the intelligence to ask questions. We all know of those persons who in school were so quiet that bullies created horror stories about them. Taunting them into submissive slaves and if they ever spoke out, unleashed lethal gossip that destroyed decent personalities. Lies are one of the most power tools of man, until you are caught in one that drains your creditability of your ability of contributing constructively. So if you visit Tuscaloosa, ask about the Mercedes troll, the one with a lot of class. I will wear this as a badge of pain, in the respect that I can change the definition of its intended purpose. Being slightly sarcastic as a writer has a right to do, I much rather be a leprechaun that would give them the treasure of my thoughts, if they where smart enough to catch my drift. In all honesty these workers are in a class by themselves creating a quality product worth a star. I just have to group them on the receiving end of unfair flattery, to show how easy things can change by allowing a few to take control of the gossip. Am I perfect? I am so imperfect that I am a human being who works for a great company whose workers are so diverse that they can think for themselves and deliver positive feedback. Why is it that pain has to exist in this world? I guess it is as simple that with it you can gain the pleasures in life. Without it you live a shallow existence that dies before it has a chance to live in all dimensions. In the pain that has whipped me, snapped me, and twisted me in every direction at once, I am a writer so tormented that there is no one word definition in the dictionary for it. But I can use a thousand words and get it half right. Try it again and get another half but somehow they will never merge. I can look at my reflection in a billion mirrors and each one will bring back it own interpretation. So in something so complex how can you figure out, that I know where I am coming from, whether it comes from the pain or pleasure side of living? The pain of yesterday’s memory may be needed to create the pleasure of tomorrow’s future. Saying that, I think we must eliminate the atrocities of humanity where classes of people are obliterated for being so diverse as to be different as night and day. In the diversity God created, no religion has the right to dictate the terms of salvation. No religion is so pure as to be free of blood stains and abusive rhetoric. If religions were brothers, the Bible would separate them as Cain and Abel. Time and again this would happen until our individuality would see God’s light in holding hands together without fear of being different. A possible infidel would meet a zealot, both still being God’s children, having been blessed in the prayers of humanities future. In the wars of religions, no religion can justify it own salvation. Only burn in that hell, of the loss of life it creates, for it comes from a lesson not taught very well from a Bible, Koran or any religious textbook of internal and world peace. The fool in me says I can change worlds. The truth is I can do very little but affect change in your thinking. You in turn must become a fool enough to affect some other minds, thus starting a domino effect of changing ideas in the diversity of tides of new opinions. The world must not become stagnant in accepting behavior that is self defeating in the complacency that somehow things will get better. The truth is that each one of us must make small steps to create the ripples needed to think things out. Only when diverse opinions can be spread to be accepted or disavowed, can we change things for the better. There are elements at work in our society that perpetuate the status quo trying only slightly to deviate it over long periods for their better control. We have become puppets controlled by a media under mind control. That is why writers open the reader’s windows to fresh air, allowing the changing seasons of never ending puzzles of creative flows to filter in, creating gardens in the paradise within your mind. Thought: Create creative minds not creative accounting. Thought: Creativity in individual thinking unleashes an uncontrolled power of spiritual cleansing that opens artistic minds. Thought: Abstractions breeding in complexities of monumental discerns in phenomenal eruptions of an incomprehensible magnitude in a great aphorism: the mind is the most complex thing in the universe. Nothing can explain it, especially its owner. Note: What brought this thinking together and why? Time and it does not need a reason to be controlled. Traveling in a world so unique That the winds carry your minds power Casting it off from a tethered body Floating in ecstatic pleasures Of unhindered restrictions In a universe of vivid colors So wild that its diversity Blossoms in every direction Releasing you from the confines Of worldly limitations A free flight lacking obstructions Of moral and legal definitions Of acceptable behavior Being guided by your own principles Of what you exist for Create in your ultimate fantasies In the emotions of masterpieces Within the power of your mind Finding the ways to express its self To its full potential D.Lester Young 10/27/2002 Tuscaloosa, AL Copyright © D.Lester Young (White Eagle poetry) |
||
| © Copyright 2002 David Lester Young - All Rights Reserved | |||
suthern
since 1999-07-29
Posts 20723Louisiana |
I loved the poem... was a bit overwhelmed by the leading commentary, but glad I kept reading. *S* |
||
|
the_loner_23 Member Ascendant
since 2002-06-08
Posts 5479Jacksonville, Florida, USA |
The poem rocked. But less commentary would have been better. Cold hands means a warm heart |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
