One day, I had a serious thought. But for some reason, I processed this serious thought using playful variations of familiar phrases. Somehow, out of that mess, today’s poem was born.
I’ve written poetry and music for about 35 years. But at the end of the day, the creative process is a mystery to me. It’s something I engage with and participate in but don’t control. In this way, creativity is akin to spirituality. God is someone I engage with and participate in but don’t control. Perhaps the most meaningful things in life are all this way.
“Shock” will be in my upcoming book, A Song of Glass.
Shock
I lost my found
then sang with swans
‘til the cows came home
and the sunset rode off
over a darkening hill.
The gold I struck
was a vein of lightning
flashing through rock,
whose tail I caught and released
with glory-singed hands
again and again, always
craving the shock
that can stop the heart
and start it again.
A Wandering Minstrel 