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The Promise's Reaction
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Dolour After my grandpa passing, I thought of not writing for a year.
My Aunty Cindy heard of this news and this what she said to me:
"No, no you cannot stop writing for a whole year. Poetry is life. If you do this; you will end up a dry, old prune. Do not do this nephew."
I try not to write. Poetry goes round and round.
An immortal cyclone ripping my mind.
Thoughts of grandpa. Thoughts of my older sister, Dianne.
Thoughts of my little sis, Sassy. Thoughts of loved ones and friends.
I feel restless. No Thoughts of grandpa and then there are many.
Such a big space hollowed. Such vast emptiness where sorrow haunts.
My wife and I speaking of writing. My novel idea. My poetry. Her poetry.
I am trying not write. Trying to honour my promise.
However, I feel a spiritual force encouraging me to write.
Is this you, Grandpa Pug? Along with all other loved ones that enjoyed my writings.
A soft touch, wife seeking me in her sleep. I lay closer in restless thoughts.
Poetry going round and round. A restless cyclone ripping my mind.
Good Luck
with the novel. To write is to work - conflict interferes with creativity and putting one word down after the other. If not liking the flow, edit, re-edit, strip out and start over - that's how I do it and it works eventually :D
.
Thank you
I am writing again. Slow work, but I am writing again.
As for the novel, I have a bunch of notes that will soon be better formed.
Again, thank you.
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I am an artist of words as well as paints.