They *do* take on a life of their own, often confounding what we intended or expected, and it's never the one you thought would go far that does.
A real poem does all that indeed. Those are usually the ones that fall into your brain when you aren't working for it, that have a messy abrupt birth and then assume all the odd flesh and rags, some sort of mental magnet for stray bits. The empty ones just deflate like an old balloon and lay flat on the page instead of soar into the skull's stratosphere, as yours do.
I'm always surprised when someone comments and it has nothing to do with my intention - yet the comment clearly captures something in the pen.Love that last couplet ~
I love it - "a poem is a live thing"....that "pains its poet". Cool one, MZ!
To be a writer, one must make peace with the idea that nothing is sacred from the pen - it's hard sometimes to face the things it will dig into and up - hard too for others living alongside the writer to understand. It's what we do.
That it does & more ~ Pain and torture, only a poet or writer understands it ~
The poem starts to live its own life under my keyboard... just like you describe... words and images come rushing... and sometimes with pain.
wonderful poem Mama Zen.. you state the living being and the pain that sometimes comes with it...
So true! I sometimes feel certain ones write themselves.
do believe someone's pen is going to be very busy this year... loved how you brought it to life
Sometimes, they write themselves. But not often enough...
Ha! Hopefully, not too unfriendly! k .
"watch / her rib /take on foreign /and unfriendly flesh" Wow. What a picture, almost evoking a Garden of Eden mishap.
very well said...
So true. We write what we write but readers read what they want to see. Overlap can be skant.
Yep, these little (well, for you) bastards are like cartoon midgets or selves spun off from us, given eyes for one thing and then painting a crazy world from it. A least we can shut the laptop on them, leaving their tiny voices muted and somewhat safe behind chrome covers. But they -- or you! -- will be baaaaaaaaaack!
They have a life and the ability to grow and change I find. Sometimes behaving like terrible twos or tumultuous teens, and then setle into maturity and old age.CiaoPea.
I so agree with you. A poem in the making is such a rebellious little child who has to be coaxed to behave, especially when we go on heaping constraints upon it.
Lately it feels like that all the time, but not you mama Zen, you rock always
A poem is a living thing that remains long after we are gone....
Oh so true! I never know where my writing will go. It reveals and moves of its own volition, if at all. I've learned not to fight it but often I feel like I'm the last to know.
i agree , many a poems are born by themselves...and when we least expect how the turn to be
The very truth about any creative writing!
The only thing worse is when the poems won't come.
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