I thought I would take a moment to talk about inspiration. Inspiration is that mechanism that gets the brain working and chewing on an idea, allowing the inspired to spit out – something, ultimately leading to some creative result or product. A person can be inspired by something experienced or witnessed, merely imagined, or it could even be from a random thought. In any case, the creative process can begin and if a person pays attention, takes advantage of those beautiful mental interruptions in the mundane course of everyday life, great results can be the reward. Sometimes inspiration can be an overwhelming sense that something has touched you. Ideas swirl and gather coherently, and something is formed that does not seem to require much work; it simply flows. Continue reading
Have you ever gone to sleep at night
with a song stuck in your head?
You dream your dreams, you toss and turn,
soft and cradled in your bed –
while that song drones on,
and the morning finds you dead.
Have you ever met the morning
with a song stuck in your head?
Have you ever heard a phrase and
started humming an old tune?
‘Cause the tune reminded you
of some old lyrics that you knew?
And you hum that song right up until
you find it’s time for bed.
Have you ever gone to sleep
with an old song stuck in your head?
Have you ever thought of something
you believe could make a song?
Those lyrics come to you
as if they’d been there all along,
and you write it all down
and turn out the lights to sleep.
Have you ever tried to sleep
with some dumb song stuck in your head?
© L. Rose
I took a break this last weekend after neglecting my boyfriend, Doug, and playful pup, Duke – the Labrador, Friday night and recording my loose-leaf poems onto my computer. I could not find the electronic versions of them, which I thought I’d recorded before, so I started…
I have learned some things, valuable lessons, with this Scattered Notebooks project, and I would like to pass this experience on to you, my audience:
Lesson 1: If a writer wishes to maintain a timeline of his or her writing, just in case, than that writer must record the date of composition. Specifically, record the date within the document.
Lesson 2: When recording this date; a writer should not use the auto-date feature of his or her word processing application. The concept is sound, for each revision, the writer could get an accurate date of final draft. However, if the writer stores and then transfers the file from a failing computer to a new drive or computer, once that writer opens the file the date will change, and there may not be an accurate record. Note: you may be able to determine the last modification date using the file properties, but it is no guarantee.
Lesson 3: With Lesson One in mind, I am not convinced that recording the ‘revision date’ is nearly as important, or as interesting as recording the date of composition. This provides insight into when the inspiration struck.
Such is the first level of frustration with myself that I have discovered. I rarely dated what I wrote, or perhaps I dated the original, but in transferring the poem or ‘song’ to electronic format, neglected the information. Do not misunderstand, this is not a deterrent, it is more of a personal nuisance. I myself do not always remember what moment in my life caused or produced the words and ideas, and that irks me. However, I am reminded that this is no longer about me.
What does it say to you? That is the question.
L. Rose – 7:07 PM 1/30/2017 (okay, the time is not really necessary, but Microsoft Notepad tip: type F5 key to instantly post the time and date!)
An overwhelming sense of foreboding
that only time will tell;
Will we be sucked into darkness
and follow the hordes to hell,
or will we, with vigilance and conscience,
look around us with far seeing eyes?
Will we walk with heads raised and ears listening
and filter the truth from the lies?
Will we brook no abuse or mistreatment,
find our voice and speak out where we should?
Will we stand up and stick up for each other,
and become our own change for the good?
If we tuck hands in pockets and lay our heads low,
we have only ourselves to blame.
Though the die is cast and settled,
doesn’t mean it’s the end of the game.
© L. Rose (Jan. 20, 2017)
I wrote this for the Trump Inauguration
Too much time in my comfy chair, with nothing much to show.
Fear and lack of confidence, too scared to have a go.
I hide beneath my patchwork quilt, and watch the world go by
with mindless banter-tainment, and beweep a braver life.
So begins my entry into the blogosphere. Whether it will prove to be a brave step, or a frustrating adventure, either way it is a step forward. I have been a chicken, though I suddenly wonder why chickens have such a bad rap. Never-the-less, by accepted comparison – a chicken I have been, afraid of the words, afraid of my voice, afraid of rejection, afraid of acceptance, and terrified of indifference.
It has finally dawned on me; it is not for me to judge whether I have anything interesting to say or contribute, that is all on the audience. The thoughts, feelings, impressions, opinions, all of those mental swirlings are just there, and I am tired of holding on to them and holding them in.
My goal is to move forward and write, and contribute new projects, but for posterity’s sake, and to share an embarrassed laugh, I politely warn that I will likely, eventually, bravely, post some of my ancient juvenile scribblings. You have my permission to constructively tell me it’s lousy, but just try to remember there’s a good chance I may have been 14 when I wrote it. I’ll try not to do it too much.
I enjoy writing in general; I love words. However, I tend to lean towards lyrical (rhyming) poetry. I think it is because I love music so much, and that is how my brain works. However, I will also contribute other styles of writing, because I must.
I will make mistakes, and welcome corrections because I believe in learning a new thing everyday. I ask, no – I require that comments to me or to others be constructive and respectful.
I celebrate today – 1/25/2017 – the day I stopped being a chicken.