Tag Archives: creativity

hinged

unskilled hands

work brush

work strings

work pen

to bad results

.

uncreative mind

plain person

simply no good

art plus work but

it never works

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La Bella Fantasia

“I swear that I can hear you in the wind…”

~*~

little phantasmic phantoms dance about

growing flowers at the garden of my mind

waiting to pluck out each bluebell and daisy

to fashion the wreaths into something kind

the playful zephyr is a fair weather friend

lulling each berceuse to sleep until the end

orbit sending me high into the atmosphere

but i won’t fall, no—i have nothing to fear

listening to the cherry blossoms that hide

in the boroughs where there’s a tinkerbell bride

and the mystical creatures would understand

with every speck of dust, a magic that enchants

.

but the delphi hearts and oracular tongues

speak of stories and brier thorns that selfishly clung

to innocent naivete still stubbornly preserved

though only to the pristine youth that it deserves

the wily eyes staring into the darkness osiris

as the nettles grow wild prevent cogent dreams

they scoured the atlas looking for eternal citadels

the nondescript pangs unaware of incarnate bevels

shrines that i pray to now submerged in irascible sins

incoherent adages leaving bruised indentations within

will the pixies be daunted? will the elves repatriate?

Quietly accepting the moiety of their unfortunate fates?

.

but beneath the black and white of underground paradise

is a fair place for scathing asters and aureole mirth alike

beyond the curlicues of charcoal smoke that paint the stars

a gossamer love decays, recording a dictaphone of past wars

in an imbroglio of lotuses, past the wafting scent of sandalwood

on the horizon, a transit of venus, a crescent smiling platitude

thoughts as crystal clear as seaglass, reflect candid illusions

show a bouquet from the spectres, a plethora of guiling ruminations

amid the taste of camphor and lead, i return to lacklustre reality

wondering and pondering when i’ll get lost again in my crafted fantasy.

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The Universe On A Bookshelf

Stardust glimmering on my pen and ink
Quarks and leptons on my paper bounce and blink
Literature creating an astral symphony
Silver letters and galaxies arching very beautifully.

~*~

Trying to catch ideas

Is like chasing a shooting star

They’re vestal, illuminating, and pretty from afar

Yet also fast, fleeting, hard to see, and highly ephemeral.

~*~

Trying to weave together a story

Is like weaving a massive sophisticated galaxy

You’ll need many stars and a spool of golden strings

To tie them up together with neat bearings.

~*~

Trying to chase our imaginations and creativity

Is like chasing the vast universe endlessly

The stars may look like they’re already running out

And it may seem impossible, you have your itching doubts

But there are still millions to unearth, for the universe is infinite

Just like our imaginations, never-ending, without any limits.

~*~

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