Hunter, Gatherer, Weaver, Baker – Bringing Life To Poetry

I’m taunted by the haughty letters

Phrases possessed by unseen demons

Words mocking me from shadowy stronghold

While tasked with bringing life to poetry

 

Pencil points prod and jab my empty hands

Inkwells dry and refuse to yield their essence

My keyboard frozen with an unseen glue

How I’m trapped and unsure what to do

 

Invisible winds sift my parchment sheaves

That which showed promise now shuffled

And momentarily lost in the maelstrom

The chaos of thoughts mixing uncontrolled

 

With a humble sincerity I cry aloud

Perhaps understanding will be my reward

Yet unearned and certainly undeserved

For the secrets of the literary elders are their own

 

And yet with perseverance sourced from somewhere

Forward I press into the raging cataclysm 

Armed with only my energies and determination

I grasp at the fragments and hold tightly

 

With ancestral strength, reminiscent of a primitive time

Focusing on the simple acts of hunting and gathering

No bit too small nor without some potential

My pile grows in a ramshackle compilation

 

Finally when my strength nears the surrender point

I retreat to the expected safety of a well lit corner

Unceremoniously dumping the gatherings

Refocusing my intentions to that of a librarian

 

Slowly the sort begins, each thought pondered upon

Unorthodox piles forming within my area

Snippets of many sessions now given fresh light

Verses thought forgotten now resurrected

 

Unseen hands seem to guide the cobbling

Pieces woven carefully and with great reverence

Threads seemingly join without rationality

And the realization that I’ve become a weaver

 

Eyes shifting rapidly as my confidence grows

The needle of my mind’s eye a blurry flash

Words become lines, verses become stanzas

Substance emerges from the recent darkness

 

An ethereal light seems to appear and prosper

Words emerge from the shadows in curiosity

Tenuous and then with an unexpected enthusiasm

I’m surrounded by a clamoring of verbs and adjectives

 

Pronouns elbowing nouns and adverbs for position

Serpentine sentences carrying long lost ideas

Punctuation spilling like marbles on a wooden table

And my page appears to be somewhat of a magnet

 

Furiously I reach and select the perfect ingredients 

A pastry chef in the great corner kitchen of poetry

Mixing, slicing, stirring and finally simmering

Subtly adding the final bits of literary flavoring

 

My hands remain hovering above the finished page

Each line reviewed and a growing faith renewed

Showing dimensions as if a village had participated 

From a world of chaos…something new created

R J Schwartz

I write about everything and sometimes nothing at all.I'm fascinated by old things, rusty things, abandoned places, or anywhere that a secret might be unearthed.I'm passionate about history and many of my pieces are anchored in one concept of time or another.I've always been a writer, dating back to my youth, but the last decade has been a time of growth for me.I'm continually pushing the limitations of vocabulary, syntax, and descriptive phrasing.

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R J Schwartz

I write about everything and sometimes nothing at all. I'm fascinated by old things, rusty things, abandoned places, or anywhere that a secret might be unearthed. I'm passionate about history and many of my pieces are anchored in one concept of time or another. I've always been a writer, dating back to my youth, but the last decade has been a time of growth for me. I'm continually pushing the limitations of vocabulary, syntax, and descriptive phrasing.

6 thoughts on “Hunter, Gatherer, Weaver, Baker – Bringing Life To Poetry

  • July 20, 2018 at 7:39 PM
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    What a cataclysmic weaving of creative thoughts. I could see the stockpiling, weaving, slicing, tossing, keeping and placing of words, verses and stanzas flying off this pile and from your Muse to your special creative writers corner. You haven, where you capture, cut and dice and stretch your imagination to outer limits. Dissecting each stanzas till it’s perfect in your eyes, then voila a new creation is formed. You certainly brought life to this posting my friend, Bravo….very well done. Did you stop to take any breaths along the way as you whirled about like a mad poet. LOL

    Reply
  • July 20, 2018 at 8:02 PM
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    You are too kind good Sir. I penned this on a flight home from Tijuana this morning. Did plan it this way, it certainly excited as how it evolved.

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  • July 20, 2018 at 10:35 PM
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    A particularly fine work Ralph, as if a door opened, til now closed. Wonderful phrasing and imagery, and a subtle metaphor to explain the rudimentary growing of a creative work. You muse kind, your hand dexterous, this would have to be my now favorite of all your works. Kudos Ralph.

    Reply
  • July 21, 2018 at 9:09 AM
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    You know something Ralph, I didnt want it to stop. This was amazing. The speed of the poem increasing as the words began to form into something special and artistic. The true struggle and success of a poet at work. The mind ever dumping materials to be sorted and categorized, then the process to create. It had it all. Excellent work my friend.

    Reply
  • July 21, 2018 at 2:51 PM
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    And the warrior of word-craft is once again victorious! Ever vigilant, brave, and confident, he brings forth his hard-won treasure to share with his army of followers. Excellent deeds, Ralph.

    Reply
  • July 21, 2018 at 11:48 PM
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    An excellent piece of writing, Ralph. Saying that you wrote it during a flight from Tijuana brought back memories because most of my early work was written on a train between Caboolture to Brisbane on my way to or from work. Your clear descriptions and pacy phrasing was a pleasure to read.
    The process of writing poetry and how to encourage people to read it seem to be common themes flowing across this site at the moment.

    Reply

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