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Writing Words - Your WRITES

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I've heard it all,
how poet laureates write,
how novelists create,
how they got studies.
seperate rooms for just
the flow of creativity.
The wealthy are born to it,
the struggling eventually earn it,
but I don't know if
I'll ever need that.
My creativity flows constantly,
driving my car, riding to work,
commuting on a bus or a trolley,
cooking supper, making lunch,
working on some assembly line,
fixing a broken appliance,
repairing my old car,
baking a birthday cake,
for one of my kids,
My paper is written on
in so many places,
them kitchen counter as I cook,
the hood of my car at the park,
snatches of notes at work,
as I msrawl on the floor,
on my bed cuddled up to a pillow,
next to a sleeping child,
to a purring cat curled up,
next to a sleeping lover,
early Sunday morning in an easy chair,
in sweatpants, flannel shirt with
a steaming cup of coffee, tea,
warming the air around me,
out on a porch, the sunroom,
on a sunny winter day.

I have written on coffee tables,
in fast food restaurants,
between two jobs,
hoping it's good,
that it means something.
One hand pinning a diaper,
the other penning a poem,
wanting to do justice
to the unsung heroes
of my hardscrabble life,
writing down the stories
that they put in my mouth,
repeating their truths,
reliving their lives,
spanning the paradoxes,
plotting the parallels,
as I tell their tales,
as they have formed in my soul.
I tell life's circle
as a straight line.


Tristram, this is a nice work.



Thanks Ella, I wrote it 25 years ago, but it is still relevant today.

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