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Of Creators and Creations

Missing image
(This is a metaphor of God's destruction of his creation, and the impending threat to destroy it again. It has nothing to do with anything I wrote.)


I wrote a poem one morning
Sat back, smiled, and thought,
“It is good.”

But when I read it later, I realized
it was not good at all.
The words didn’t cooperate.
Something changed. 
I was sure it was the words’ fault
so I kept a few
but destroyed the rest
by flushing it down the toilet.

Determined to make the words
do what I wanted them to do,
I started over and rewrote the poem.

I was pleased with the new words
but over time,
they began to annoy me again.
Angered, I wrote the words I liked
On a separate page
And set the rest on fire.
(Water seemed so redundant.)

The good words are here with me
And the rest are gone.
I'm not sure what to do now.
I just can't seem to get it right.

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Comments

1 - 19 of 19

  • deercatcher
    February 6
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    One doesn't have to look far to see that perhaps cataclysms have shaped the distant past. Reverse analysis of Mitochondrial DNA points to a choke point 40,000 years ago. One of the most intriguing ideas I have been exposed to is that the Ice age was a neuclear winter from a war fought 12-14000 years ago. There are rows of craters in the shallow sea off the Eastern US seaboard. Areas in India are still so radioactive no one can live there. There are sheets of green glass in the North African desert that match those created at Alamogordo.


    • Mark Rickerby gold member
      February 6
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      What??? I never heard that one before. I'll have to check it out. Imagine if that were true. A few history books would have to be edited a little. lol


  • noelleishere gold member
    December 6, 2009
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    wow..

    you are a truly amazing poet! all of your work has inspired me


  • SandyToo
    October 10, 2009
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    Ha! Very clever. ...loved the "redundant" line.


  • AusStar
    September 29, 2009
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    Clever!


  • Rowan gold member
    September 27, 2009

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    and on the seventh day
    the poet slept on it...

    I loved this.


  • klassy lassy
    September 27, 2009

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    Spoken like a true writer. They are never truly satisfied with first appearance and learn to question all that follows. I read this week, and wish I could reacall who said it: "A word is the skin of a thought." I'm still thinking about it.

    Writers simply have to grow into their skin...and then they grow out of them.



    • Mark Rickerby gold member
      September 27, 2009
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      Wow, I love both of those lines. The one in quotes and yours. So true. Who says the voice stays the same forever. Then again, one lifetime isn't long enough to keep growing new voices. lol


  • An Old Codger gold member
    September 26, 2009

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    Ahhh grasshopper, you have discovered the true mind of a writer. One of angst, anger and a never ending quest for perfection. Meditation and a good stiff shot of the hair of the dog that bit you will bring everything into order.

    Having read some of your work, methinks thou doth protest too much.


    • Mark Rickerby gold member
      September 27, 2009
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      AOC,

      As I said to Chuck, this poem is really a metaphor of God's destruction of his creation, and the impending threat to destroy it again. It really has nothing to do with my writing, thus the illustrations. But I agree with everything you said about righting a bad write. That's some good advice.

      Hope all is well with you and yours.

      Mark


      • An Old Codger gold member
        September 27, 2009
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        LOL
        All I hear in my head at this moment is the voice of Miss Emily Latella from Saturday Night Live saying, "Never mind."

        With new understanding injected into my long lost mind, your write makes loads of sense.


        • Mark Rickerby gold member
          September 27, 2009
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          There's nothing lost about your mind, buddy. It's one of the best ones on this site. Then again, the voluntarily loss of mind is a healthy thing to do, and usually the beginning of real sanity. As Zorba said to "boss", "Without a little madness, a man is afraid to cut the string and be free."


  • Night Hope gold member
    September 26, 2009
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    You have always gotten it right. That's a fact.


  • Chuck Johnson silver member
    September 26, 2009

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    Your muse...

    Gather the scraps into a pile, randomly mix them without guile, then fill the spaces between the words with life experiences, punctuated with memories of natural things, and highlighted by inspirational imaginings. Then place the jumbled mess aside and wait for 7 days, and when you decide to toss it all, beside the other rejected messes, hesitate one moment in time, to reread that confused rhyme and let your heart put out the flames and paint it all into one picture frame...

    Grant your words the liberty to exist, the ability to love, and the sounds of song. Then let them choose the way they think is best, or at least better then the rest. And when they fail to meet the expectations, let them try again without hesitation. For in trying they are better then they could ever be, and certainly better then you or me. Create a heaven and a hell, and give them a challenge they know so well, and let them strive to make a home, in each their own way and each alone....


    • Mark Rickerby gold member
      September 27, 2009
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      Hey Chuck,

      This is really a metaphor of God's destruction of his creation, and the impending threat to destroy it again. It really has nothing to do with my writing. But I think you know that. Your response is a poem in itself and made this write very worthwhile for me. Hope you've had a great week buddy

      Mark


      • Chuck Johnson silver member
        September 27, 2009
        Edit | Reply

        Hi Mark

        Yes, I knew that. Using "Creation" as the source of my inspiration, like yours, I felt that as writers we had to acknowledge that our words are much more powerful, exciting, unusual then we could ever be. Each word has its own special magic. Like each human soul. Word / Soul, certainly they are close to each other in their complexity. As babies, we were just hunks of potential, messes. As we grew with experiences, we gained in wisdom, strength, and humanity. So too do words gather, become stronger, and reflect better our humanity. For long after each of us is gone, our words may be remembered by some monk in a long forgotten cliffside cave ...and he may be inspired by the thoughts you've written. And perhaps, God will drop by and read your cries and grant the grace to achieve.

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