Leonardo Posted April 12, 2012 #26 Share Posted April 12, 2012 I wanted to add, you shouldn't see how you express yourself in words now as "deficient". The expression of ideas in words is a form of art, and all artistic expressions are equally valid. While you now might use a different form to your expression than you did previously, that does not make the artistry of that expression any less. The exprssion of art is a talent, and that has not been affected by your injury. The form, or technique, of that expression is merely mechanical and is largely irrelevant to the art. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Aus Der Box Skeptisch Posted April 12, 2012 #27 Share Posted April 12, 2012 (edited) Whisper If you would please. Edited April 12, 2012 by Aus Der Box Skeptisch Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Aus Der Box Skeptisch Posted April 12, 2012 #28 Share Posted April 12, 2012 (edited) BTW cassea this is exactly the method I use to free write. A single detail will write itself in length. You are gifted. I would like to return the gesture ... if you write for me at the end leave a detail and I will write a short story in return. Edited April 12, 2012 by Aus Der Box Skeptisch Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted April 13, 2012 Author #29 Share Posted April 13, 2012 Hey Leonardo. Thank you. Some days I can retrieve words with lightening speed and then other days I get repetitive. Part of this exercise is to show me how I tend to repeat things even though I think I'm writing in a completely different space. My creativity seems to be boxed separately from my logic these days. This is frustrating. When I write it, I'll not have thought of it before. So even though I see whisper, I am not sitting there thinking of ideas. When I sit down to do it, it will be an effort at word retrieval. Poetry seems to work better for me now than prose. But in honor of Aus and Unexplained Mysteries my word for the story is "Fossil." Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Aus Der Box Skeptisch Posted April 14, 2012 #30 Share Posted April 14, 2012 Ooh fossil. This is a curious word. There are a few ways my mind has taken this word. My brain has branched into three stories each taken off in seperate directions. I'm not sure which one will start writing when my fingers start dancing across the letters of my keyboard . I'm excited to se how the story comes out. Ill have it for you in a little while. It shouldn't take long to write. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Aus Der Box Skeptisch Posted April 14, 2012 #31 Share Posted April 14, 2012 (edited) Well here it is. I must admit it isn't at all what I thought it was going to be when I started writing. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Fossil Many days come and go, each a new day, most similar to the last. I've seen births and deaths, peace and war. I've seen abundance and starvation. I had my share of good days and bad days, yet I blink and it becomes a memory. Life is funny that way. It seems we forget at times that we are in a moment. When we are young we reach for the future. When we are old we reminisce the past. We tend to always grasp what will be or has been but rarely realize the moment we are in. We dig into the earth layer by layer to retrieve those moments lost to us. When the world blinks we are left with scattered remnants lost beneath the sands. The world blinked and there was life. The world blinked again and that life was reduce to mere fossils. Minerals washed into cavities to store the memory of creatures we will never meet. I exist in a blink filled with moments. Everytime I blink I'm older. Some days I find myself standing in front of the mirror in a house I have lived in for over 50 years. In those years I have stood in this same spot looking at the same person each day slightly changing. Never noticing the subtle changes from day to day. I don't feel any different inside. I'm still the young man who first stood in this spot half a century ago. But I have changed. The world will continue to blink when I'm gone. I am a moment. I am not sad to be a moment. Moments become past without which there could be no future. I am simply a mechanism with which the cycle may continue. Today though, today is special. Today is always special because today is the day I create moments in my life. Yesterday is the past, tomorrow the future, but today is a gift that's why they call it the present. Today a bird sung its song just for me. No one else can hear this particular song on this particular day from this particular bird. No one but myself was here to witness its melody. This day like each new day is the most important day of my moment here in this endless cycle. Tomorrow will continue to come , but tomorrows will not always come for me. So I am grateful. This is what I leave to my family ,words of an old man. Words that may allow you to take another look around and enjoy the gift today brings. I love you all, and may your own blink be as full and enjoyable as mine was. Signed Oliver James Worth Mother who wrote that? My great grand father Rebecca. Your great great grandfather. This letter has been passed down in our family since his passing. I'd like to give this letter to you to hold on to. So his moment may last a little longer and your moment may become a bit bigger. I can really have it mommy? Yes little one it is for you. I will take such good care of it mommy I promise. I know you will dear. Edited April 14, 2012 by Aus Der Box Skeptisch Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Leonardo Posted April 14, 2012 #32 Share Posted April 14, 2012 Hey Leonardo. Thank you. Some days I can retrieve words with lightening speed and then other days I get repetitive. Part of this exercise is to show me how I tend to repeat things even though I think I'm writing in a completely different space. My creativity seems to be boxed separately from my logic these days. This is frustrating. When I write it, I'll not have thought of it before. So even though I see whisper, I am not sitting there thinking of ideas. When I sit down to do it, it will be an effort at word retrieval. Poetry seems to work better for me now than prose. But in honor of Aus and Unexplained Mysteries my word for the story is "Fossil." I understand it's frustrating, but is that simply because you expect things "to be as before"? If so, then you shouldn't put that pressure on yourself. Art flows from the now, not the past. As I said previously, you still have the talent. It doesn't matter if it takes one minute or one year for the art to express through that talent - that is just another pressure you should dispense with. Here's another word, if you would grace me with a poem from it, please? Triumph. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted April 14, 2012 Author #33 Share Posted April 14, 2012 Well here it is. I must admit it isn't at all what I thought it was going to be when I started writing. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it. Fossil Many days come and go, each a new day, most similar to the last. I've seen births and deaths, peace and war. I've seen abundance and starvation. I had my share of good days and bad days, yet I blink and it becomes a memory. Life is funny that way. It seems we forget at times that we are in a moment. When we are young we reach for the future. When we are old we reminisce the past. We tend to always grasp what will be or has been but rarely realize the moment we are in. We dig into the earth layer by layer to retrieve those moments lost to us. When the world blinks we are left with scattered remnants lost beneath the sands. The world blinked and there was life. The world blinked again and that life was reduce to mere fossils. Minerals washed into cavities to store the memory of creatures we will never meet. I exist in a blink filled with moments. Everytime I blink I'm older. Some days I find myself standing in front of the mirror in a house I have lived in for over 50 years. In those years I have stood in this same spot looking at the same person each day slightly changing. Never noticing the subtle changes from day to day. I don't feel any different inside. I'm still the young man who first stood in this spot half a century ago. But I have changed. The world will continue to blink when I'm gone. I am a moment. I am not sad to be a moment. Moments become past without which there could be no future. I am simply a mechanism with which the cycle may continue. Today though, today is special. Today is always special because today is the day I create moments in my life. Yesterday is the past, tomorrow the future, but today is a gift that's why they call it the present. Today a bird sung its song just for me. No one else can hear this particular song on this particular day from this particular bird. No one but myself was here to witness its melody. This day like each new day is the most important day of my moment here in this endless cycle. Tomorrow will continue to come , but tomorrows will not always come for me. So I am grateful. This is what I leave to my family ,words of an old man. Words that may allow you to take another look around and enjoy the gift today brings. I love you all, and may your own blink be as full and enjoyable as mine was. Signed Oliver James Worth Mother who wrote that? My great grand father Rebecca. Your great great grandfather. This letter has been passed down in our family since his passing. I'd like to give this letter to you to hold on to. So his moment may last a little longer and your moment may become a bit bigger. I can really have it mommy? Yes little one it is for you. I will take such good care of it mommy I promise. I know you will dear. You're probably gonna b**** slap me upside to sideways. But you are demonstrating something with which I used to not struggle, but do now. Even though this is very insightful, it's the telling of the thing, not the showing. There is something that causes me to "sag" halfway through the first two lines. It's someone's "ponderings" I struggle as well for the universal. That thing that causes use to "latch on" to the writing. This doesn't sound like an old man talking to me. It sounds like a young man trying to sound old. That means to me that you must find the echo in your own soul of what you are trying to say and allow it "out." Because there is much wisdom here but a voice is lacking. Trust yourself. Trust your voice. Speak. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
markdohle Posted April 14, 2012 #34 Share Posted April 14, 2012 The last poem I wrote just came right out, automatically. This one intimidates me because I have a hard time with "poetic phrasing" like the other one I skipped. I think. I get too intimidated? I think you expect something with the phrasing. So I tend to try to shake that off. By writing something. Completely unrelated. So Inner Fire. Hmmm I try to make it abstract or unrelated. I'm going to think a bit. On this one. Reading back I see I use eyes and skies a lot. So I will try for something completely different this time. Inner Fire The yelping dog breaks through the noisy afternoon with its bouncing tires ricocheting trains be bop sound drop of the afternoon lickity splitting bus stops hissing hydraulics and children's histrionics like the boom boom boom of an 80's juke box blasting out of the storefront of the local pub The pedestrians roam like displaced equestrians their horses agallop off their reins riding hard up Fifth Avenue knocking left and right the fancy paper shopping bags of daily shopping hags as they ignore you as you wander through lean to the right lean to the left side step spin away like dancers in The Thanksgiving Day Parade and keep on moving downtown maybe there you can trade your fare Another dreamer with solid soles of shoes to wander up and down the pavement try to pound into the granite your deliberate provocation Let them know that you were here Remember that as you fade beside the blue light flicker through your memory try to find your answer we never forgot you dear You were always here Actually that fits my inner life at times, the inner fire can be disruptive at times. Well done my friend. Sorry for the late response. peace mark Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Aus Der Box Skeptisch Posted April 16, 2012 #35 Share Posted April 16, 2012 You're probably gonna b**** slap me upside to sideways. But you are demonstrating something with which I used to not struggle, but do now. Even though this is very insightful, it's the telling of the thing, not the showing. There is something that causes me to "sag" halfway through the first two lines. It's someone's "ponderings" I struggle as well for the universal. That thing that causes use to "latch on" to the writing. This doesn't sound like an old man talking to me. It sounds like a young man trying to sound old. That means to me that you must find the echo in your own soul of what you are trying to say and allow it "out." Because there is much wisdom here but a voice is lacking. Trust yourself. Trust your voice. Speak. I trusted myself to write without editing. I enjoyed writing and I thought it to be an exchange of art. I was hoping to see some writing using whisper... not too concerned though. Thank you for reading what I wrote non the less. I really enjoyed allowing the words to fall onto the page. If it was not up to par that is quite all right as I said above I simply enjoyed writing it. Have a good day cassea ill see you around. And keep up the good work getting back into writing. And hey don't be so hard on yourself what ever you write it comes from you making it worth while. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Enoonmai Posted May 1, 2012 #36 Share Posted May 1, 2012 You are very gifted in your poetics Cassea! i like your style and imagery! Keep up the good work! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted December 8, 2012 Author #37 Share Posted December 8, 2012 I'd like to practice again if someone wants to give it a try. Wow I'm reading my writing from months ago. Very herky jerky. I've gotten better. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Left-Field Posted December 10, 2012 #38 Share Posted December 10, 2012 I'd like to practice again if someone wants to give it a try. Silence. Love. Grievance. Hope. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Clarakore Posted December 10, 2012 #39 Share Posted December 10, 2012 I'd like to practice again if someone wants to give it a try. Learning to live with the pain because if I got my way by acting out or manipulatuon then someone else I care for deeply would hurt more than I do. One day I will grow beyond this, or hope that I can. I don't want to hurt either but I don't want to hurt someone else at all anymore. Cassea: Let me thank you now for your empathy and if this is too painful I understand, you don't have to write it because I myself who loves to write cannont even write it for myself. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
CuriousGreek Posted December 10, 2012 #40 Share Posted December 10, 2012 May i ask a poem about 'Love'??? Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted December 11, 2012 Author #41 Share Posted December 11, 2012 (edited) Silence. Love. Grievance. Hope. My words are failing today. I'm pushing myself. So Silence Love Grievence Hope When she turned to me she had nothing left in her eyes my hand stood like an open winged hummingbird caught int the thrumming of life it hesitated wiating for a reply some breath from her mouth to lift it's wings it hesitated and hesitated until it had found the wings had fallen from its body scaled and dessicated in the cool air a delicate hollow boned corpse that tumbled into the abyss following her down its voice rising to the cries of a heron return return wide awake face down in the willows and marsh land the prodding of three pronged claws digging under reaching between each crevice of your mind those hollow bones launching upwards like a crawfish snapping at a piece of flesh the way you grasp for life the way hope crawls out of the back of your throat like a lumbering beetle uprooted from a turned stone held in your hand as the beetle crawls upward no shudder no fear recognition of the symbiotic destiny of life place down that stone again and walk away pulling yourself in against the call of the distant heron the tidewaters lapping at the corners of your mind the wind pulling across the sky like a sad man playing his viola and yest the warm is there to cradle even the dismal soul. Edited December 11, 2012 by Cassea 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted December 11, 2012 Author #42 Share Posted December 11, 2012 (edited) May i ask a poem about 'Love'??? I do not do well today. You stood on the edge of the rock after the water had pulled away you hid your feet in the cracks the space between the rocks the cracks formed at the edge of our own existence the sound of this mystery cries out from the fine worn and calloused hands of the lace and silver makers high in the mountains among the cobbled streets the cedar doors and the white washed walls We walk along the empty streets the air is dusted with pine and jasmine we hear the song of the plucking guitar melodic voices of the old women filling their jugs with water hanging their sheets dancing around their own feet in the dance of their younger days We continue down to the sea with its colored boats with leather skinned fishermen untwining their nets as we twine our hands our souls closer together further apart in the sea This one is not right. I have to do it again. There is another story about the smooth stones on the bottom of the sea. I can't do it now. Edited December 11, 2012 by Cassea 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Left-Field Posted December 11, 2012 #43 Share Posted December 11, 2012 and yestthe warm is there to cradle even the dismal soul. Thank you so very much, Cassea. I knew you wouldn't disappoint. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted December 11, 2012 Author #44 Share Posted December 11, 2012 LOL went back to edit it. But couldn't remember if I meant 'YES' Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Left-Field Posted December 11, 2012 #45 Share Posted December 11, 2012 LOL went back to edit it. But couldn't remember if I meant 'YES' I actually thought I knew what "yest" meant, so it made sense to me. Upon looking up "yest" though I'm now thinking maybe you meant "yet" lol. It's all good though. It came across like it was meant to and made sense to me. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Likely Guy Posted December 11, 2012 #46 Share Posted December 11, 2012 I do not do well today. If that was directed towards your writing, I for one, disagree. Many will probably agree, with me, that you write very well. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted December 11, 2012 Author #47 Share Posted December 11, 2012 Thank you. I used to be good. I still have a little minx. But not the skill set. Some days are better. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
CuriousGreek Posted December 11, 2012 #48 Share Posted December 11, 2012 I do not do well today. You stood on the edge of the rock after the water had pulled away you hid your feet in the cracks the space between the rocks the cracks formed at the edge of our own existence the sound of this mystery cries out from the fine worn and calloused hands of the lace and silver makers high in the mountains among the cobbled streets the cedar doors and the white washed walls We walk along the empty streets the air is dusted with pine and jasmine we hear the song of the plucking guitar melodic voices of the old women filling their jugs with water hanging their sheets dancing around their own feet in the dance of their younger days We continue down to the sea with its colored boats with leather skinned fishermen untwining their nets as we twine our hands our souls closer together further apart in the sea This one is not right. I have to do it again. There is another story about the smooth stones on the bottom of the sea. I can't do it now. I liked it very much. It is amazing. You don't have to write another one, because that one was pretty good. But, if you want to, it's fine with me of course! Thank you!! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
theSOURCE Posted December 12, 2012 #49 Share Posted December 12, 2012 Cassea, would you write a poem for me? The word I have in mind right now is "pain". Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cassea Posted December 12, 2012 Author #50 Share Posted December 12, 2012 (edited) Pain Tyranny sweeps down in her decorated misery pulling us jarring from the din of our distractions with the sudden shattering like a tray of dishes dropped in a diner kitchen as we sit at the counter turning our coffees holding spoons lightly between draped fingers that no longer care to grasp We sit on uncomfortable stools and remove our thoughts from our minds one by one by one to drop into the abyss to be ignored Sorrow sings our song calls back to us like the distant owls we wear this second skin of loneliness too comfortably Pain winds through our tendons and bones like ivy among a tangled garden so imbedded we cannot attempt to even prune it but merely continue living with its twinging tendrils corrupting our very souls. Edited December 12, 2012 by Cassea Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Recommended Posts
Create an account or sign in to comment
You need to be a member in order to leave a comment
Create an account
Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!
Register a new accountSign in
Already have an account? Sign in here.
Sign In Now