I like to write poetry. It is in my blood you could say. My Father was a poet, inventor and a fixer of everything. He didn't get to raise me but his blood runs thick in these old veins. He died shortly before my birth. So his poetry is all that I have of him.
Like many things I have to be in the mood to write. It strikes me with no warning and leaves just like the breathe from my body. Clay works is the same as well as painting and collage work. These things do not come easy to me as some of you think. I refer to them as whispers. When one arrives that I like I am grateful and relieved. It sometimes feels like a itch that I can't quite reach. It is meant to be here, but the timing has to be just right as well as my mood. That is the hard part. LOL I am often so wrapped up in so many things that it pulls me away from the whispers. When I finally get to sit down it takes over.
This poem I am about to share was quite a few years ago. I think about 5 in fact. I had made a very eerie make do. I can't find the pictures although I know they are here somewhere.
It is time to be thinking about Halloween items and this poem just might inspire you to create something. Happy Haunting my friends
Pea
3 comments:
Love the poem and the pic goes great with it. ☺
Thank you Caroline. I have to get busy with some new news. LOL
pea
Such fun. Blessings.
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