artist

still

~ extraplorer ~ Leave a comment

I am still here, it seems.

Maybe you have noticed the dates petering out, as if I was on my last legs, a disappearing, but no.

Somehow the me that is me, is an insistence, more, perhaps than is convenient to myself.

She arrives and takes charge and all the other mes acquiesce.

It is a long time since I started writing here. I am older. She is a mood, and often that mood is weighed down under Responsibilities.

I wriggled out of the skin of my old existence. I left everything and moved, for this self.

I had artistic space. And then I didn’t. Then I did, then not.

Everything takes longer.

I am in a struggle for the existence of a self almost no-one cares about except me.

Except I think you know the feeling.

I have a week in a studio. A week. It seems short.

I have decided to fill it with eternity; love and fire.

Watch me.

deaths for you

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I have died a hundred deaths for you.
Since we met…
Since we kissed, that first time.

And you talked about our daughter
Perilously.

The cherry blossoms were not out
but sunlight glimmered cooly
over the spring air
over my red date shoes tucked under the café table.

You disappeared.
Something you would do again and again and again.

So I died that death then,
Cried the tears out in the middle of a business trip.
Discovered peace.
‘Extraordinary grace’ a voice declared,
And I believed it.

I was staying in your city.
You were seeing someone else, and yet
there was power, was there not, in that air?
You could not stay away; yet honour prevailed.

I died that death then,
cried the tears out in my new friend’s country house garden.
Her father made waffles with cloudberry jam.
How could such sweetness exist?
With pain?

I lived in your absence.
You never wrote or called.
You policed yourself so well.
One day you introduced me.
Possibly naive.

There was no death there.
I’d died beforehand,
in fire and wonder
of my own making.

And then you came to find me, again
we kissed, under the Red Moon sky,
in the midsummer night of a picnic,
a bracing swim,
tender conversations,
delight in your eyes.

In a blink you had vanished.
You were ‘afraid’.
You were ‘running away’.

You met someone else.

I died such a death,
the like of which I’d never seen before.
Wild trust, goodness and silence,
knowing, fury
Pain, fire, tears and painting
My dreams caught alight.

I have died a hundred deaths for you, yes
And I am more alive than I have ever been.

happy birthday extraplorer

~ extraplorer ~ 1 Comment

Well!  Having been away for a week or so with work, I peeked in on extraplorer today and guess what? A trophy was there to say ‘happy one year anniversary’ to extraplorer blog.  And of course it put me in reflective mode…

One year of extraplorer has brought so much richness to my life.  The little ‘likes’ to my poems have given me so much more confidence about my writing.  The encouragement of poet-eye-view that the possibility of posting creates has caused me to be more intentional about how I see beauty in the world – this has genuinely shaped me to ‘discover more beauty through writing’.

One sadness is not posting as often as I would like.  Today I was thinking about it and wondering if it is even OK to have a blog if your posts are not super-frequent.  The image that came to mind was one of the sea… there are swells and sets and gaps between sets and choppy little waves, and flat calms, but no one says that we should not bother having a sea because it is not consistent.  I think this image is going to help me be more peaceful about posting when I can, and not worrying when I can’t.  This is especially important for me this year of finishing an academic book project, developing my other daily work, often involving traveling overseas, and continuing to pioneer some unique projects (as well as hoping to find love…).

One thing that I sometimes wonder about is whether extraplorer should grow to be about creative living, as well as just my own creative work.  I am not sure?  I am a bit concerned that things which are about ‘how to’ can become restrictive… I like mystery, and don’t want to flatten out the mystery of living too much.  Still not sure…

My hopes for this coming year are to continue to discover even more beauty through writing, to have a poem published, to write more poetry based in the workplace, and to generally explore some of the themes I have already been looking at like ‘things I want to tell my children but might forget’.  I want to create more found poetry in different ways and to just daydream and see what happens.

I want to keep on extraploring…

lost poem

~ extraplorer ~ 4 Comments

A poem hovered near me the other day
while I was doing something else
possibly more important, I
can’t remember.

Giggling silently, it swished its yellow plastic
grass skirt,
tried to catch my eye.
‘Check me out’, it was
longing to say,
but it instead just lurked,
transmitting ‘catch me’, ‘catch me’
through its pores.
Preoccupied, tired, I was aware,
but not quite.

It was funny, maybe
even laugh-out-loud hilarious.
It wanted to be written in
rhyming couplets
for a joke; it was all
irony and winks and
hijinks.

I caught the tail of the poem
that preceded it, reeled it in,
but despite my inner
‘must write that down’
tasks overtook me.  The cute
poem with the dancing eyes,
disconsolate,
went to play elsewhere.

Maybe my cheeky quirky poem will come back to
visit me.  Maybe not.
Either way,
I’m not making the same mistake this time.

early blog anxiety

~ extraplorer ~ 5 Comments

I am afraid of flatlining;
forty-eight dots on the WordPress
navigation bar
haunt my waking moments.

Ooooh the thrill of the tall
proud towers of views;
a forest of admiration;
peaks of blog achievement
I could almost stick my flag in.

I try to rationalise the valleys of
(invisibility)
which only occur (be reasonable)
when many other very
fulfilling and important
things are going on in the
real world.

The data analytics inner self
is not convinced.
We are losing momentum!
This is our chance!  Where is our poem
producer?  Nail her to her desk!

I try ignoring those dots…
It’s important for an artist to have
fallow period, I offer the comfort
of metaphors from the natural world.

All futile.  ‘If a tree falls in a wood
with no one to hear it’, or something?
Bottom line?  I don’t exist now.

When I signed up for this,
I had no idea that the dots were
taking over.