Quite a few years ago a french workmate said the following to me during a short break:- « Il y a un tel bordel là dedans je voudrais pas y habiter! » Don't worry, here's a rough translation:- « It's such mess inside your head I wouldn't like to live there! » We were talking about the way we think, and how we adpat to different situations in life. As someone who has written lots of different things over the years I'm beginning to think that he might have been right! Why? Well, simply because as a living,walking,talking human sponge I've swallowed and stored an enormous amount of emotional criteria which I've used in my writing. That's ok when you are alone with your thoughts and ready to pull them out to be used in a story or a poem, but when you try to explain the process to someone who has never written a word they start looking at you as if you're just that little bit crazy. Not that it bothers me a lot I'll keep on writing because I understand where I'm going!
Just to give you all an idea about what I write I thought I'd post the following poem. Someone, I don't remembe said reading my prose was like falling down stairs! Why not? So be prepared to tumble!
Contemplation
I know that
you are
there
hiding behind
a smile,
a fleeting look
a shared word,
a coffee,
growing cold
on
a
pavement café.
I know that
our paths
have
yet to cross
the signal yet
to turn to green,
but I know that
you are there
innocent
as one
can be
time and tide
having drawn
lines
on our world
worn faces.
In a crowd,
behind
an unopened
door
In a dream
before daylight brings
remorseful wakening,
leaving that look
that said
yes
to my every
desire,
the hand that
touched my
soul
before my
aching body.
Wrapped in
quiet solitude
I
contemplate
what
will
never
be.
All the best and keep on writing.
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