Less than 6 hours until i begin something either rediculously stupid, or amazingly fulfilling. I'm thinking it will be a little bit of both. Ya see, NaNoWriMo stands for "National Novel Writing Month". Right now, many thousands around the world are preparing to spend the entire month of November creating 50,000 words worth of brain children....and i'm one of those nutballs. I'm both excited and fearful. We'll see how it goes. oy vey...
Also...
this poem has nothing to do with NaNoWriMo, but i found it in my folder 'o stuff...and i need to get into a writing mood. Time to tap into what well of creative energy I have in me. So, here's a poem...cuz for a whole month I'll be writing nothing but prose.
The life of a poet.
Creeping in silent fashion through
Paraphrase and parable,
A master of rhyme and meter;
A master, yet unholy in a quest to spill
A lifetime of brain jelly onto paper,
Capsized thoughts ambitiously defined,
Whimsical has a life of it’s own coupled
With the correct adverb…
Sigh, and surrender to the fashion that is ceremonious
Art.
Urge and passion swept into a net of exotically woven verse.
Madness seems better. Discomfort more real.
Truth, most sincere.
Poets are the wind silently humming in the trees,
An artifact of nature.
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