Writing
Some people write from the depths of their soul, the words that appear are representative of the deep feeling and ideas they have inside. This is not the case with me. When I write, what is produced is merely the white noise that covers my thoughts. I get so frustrated with this. When my mind is filled with ideas that are growing, points of baby green only lasting for a moment before becoming incorporated into the dusky green of adult obscurity, I sit down with a clean piece of paper and my favorite pen and begin to write in an attempt to capture them. After some time has passed I reread the words that have mussed the page only to find a mess of my daily thoughts reproduced there. So why keep writing? I suppose it clears my brain enabling me to think about what really matters to me. So while nothing of value is produced on the paper, the value is found in the clarity of thought inside.
posted by Lebee @ 7:41 PM
2 Comments:
I think this is a nice piece of writing! It makes good sense too. You are expressing something that a lot of people can relate to. (I know, excuse the bad grammar. I don't know how not to finish a sentence with a preposition.)
My uncle has a country place, that no one knows about
He says it used to be a farm, before the motor law
And on sundays I elude the ’eyes’ and hop the turbine freight
To far outside the wire, where my white-haired uncle waits.
Jump to the ground
As the turbo slows to cross the borderline
Run like the wind,
As excitement shivers up and down my spine
Down in his barn
My uncle preserved for me, an old machine ---
For fifty-odd years
To keep it as new has been his dearest dream
I strip away the old debris, that hides a shining car
A brilliant red barchetta, from a better, vanished time
I fire up the willing engine, responding with a roar
Tires spitting gravel, I commit my weekly crime...
Wind in my hair ---
Shifting and drifting ---
Mechanical music ---
Adrenalin surge ---
Well-weathered leather
Hot metal and oil
The scented country air
Sunlight on chrome
The blur of the landscape
Every nerve aware
Suddenly, ahead of me, across the mountainside
A gleaming alloy air-car shoots towards me, two lanes wide
I spin around with shrieking tires, to run the deadly race
Go screaming through the valley as another joins the chase
Drive like the wind
Straining the limits of machine and man
Laughing out loud
With fear and hope, I’ve got a desperate plan
At the one-lane bridge
I leave the giants stranded
At the riverside
Race back to the farm
To dream with my uncle
At the fireside...
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