attention

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.

lost journal

~ extraplorer ~ 2 Comments

lost journal

I lost my journal on the plane
flower print, ditsy,
‘she dreamed of diamonds
and life on the ocean wave’.

My blue-biro pen loops,
curls and lines and dots
are orphaned.
How will they manage
without me?

Tiny hand-drawn to-do boxes
will be half-unticked.
forever.
Scribbled inspirations
may never see
the light of day now.

I feel fortunate
I forged a bond
with the crew of
BA0589
from Milan Linate.
But how much was
just politeness?

And anyway, perhaps
it was an unknown cleaner
who discovered treasure
under the Financial Times?

I hover over the
lost luggage website.
It seems my life
is now in the company
of Macbook Airs, Dubai dates
and an antique firearm
(Business Class Lounge,
Lufthansa).

I slip poetry into
every non-drop-down-box
of the standard claim;
perhaps a small serenade
might lure Juliet
to her balcony.

I send the form,
and wonder.
What will they send me?

nearly three months review

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Suddenly more months have gone past and I haven’t had a moment to look back.  Christmas, New Year, woosh.

But it’s a sunny Sunday morning and I am nearing the three month anniversary of starting extraplorer.  I have a few minutes peace between business trips and the perfect moment to reflect and be happy about writing.

Of course when I started extraplorer, I had bits of writing lying around that I could add to extraplorer when I liked.  That gave me a thrill of momentum, but it was not sustainable forever.  I wish I had more time to write, but I am also happy to have a busy life of adventures in the outside world.  I wouldn’t swap the balance, I don’t think, even though it sometimes makes me feel restless.

Only one person in my ‘real life’ knows about extraplorer – my mother.  I am very very lucky that I have a mother who is trustworthy with these small attempts at writing.  Writing and having her comments is one thing that has given me more confidence that what I am doing is ‘real writing’.

And having real readers is the other thing.  I find it amazing to think of readers reading my writing (thank you so much fellow extraplorers!).

Sometimes I feel sad that I have not invited all my friends to join and see extraplorer yet.  In a way it feels awful, like having a baby and then asking a lot of strangers to come to visit it in the hospital while you tell your friends they are not welcome.  I am very lucky that some of my friends know about my blog, and are happy for me to trying things out in secret.  In a way, my friends’ generosity of spirit is the third thing that is making my writing be able to grow.

Thanks to these three sources of encouragement, I am becoming braver and getting closer to the day when I can share my work more confidently with more people.

in the wordsmith’s workshop

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Following a magical visit to the goldsmith’s workshop, now it is the wordsmith’s turn.

The wordsmith had visited the goldsmith’s workshop to help her with some writing because she does not find it easy to tell her story.

The wordsmith took the tools of her own trade with her to see the goldsmith – just a little silver laptop computer and a warm heart.  As the goldsmith talked, the wordsmith captured certain phrases, facts and stories.  Using questions wrought from the wisdom of experience, the wordsmith tugged at tales and pulled at pauses, and waited patiently in silence, knowing that in time precious nuggets would emerge.

Which they did, sometimes one or two, sometime more, with their own timing and rhythm as the goldsmith remembered, lit up, hesitated and shared.

At last the wordsmith shut her laptop, said goodbye and left the goldsmith’s workshop, ready for her own process of mulling, refining, and seeing what remained.

The wordsmith allowed the goldsmith’s stories to swirl around her imagination, and at last, sat down again with the goldsmith’s words, ready to start work.

As she pondered, she let the most important themes come to the surface.  Then she worked with them, adding little facts here and there from her notes; unwinding and bending phrases to become small facets of love and delight.  She brought the goldsmith’s passions and heart for people into a setting where they could be more easily spotted.  She highlighted the goldsmith’s bravery and pioneering spirit.

At last the wordsmith was finished.  She did a last check over her work, and then ‘ping’ sent it to the goldsmith’s team.

And then today, she visited them.

The goldsmith had loved the finished work.  It had helped her to recognise her own self, remember her great joy in her own work, its value and many riches.  It had helped her to see past the struggles and weariness, to regain her vision and strength.

The praise from the goldsmith’s team delighted the wordsmith.  She too suddenly realised the treasure of her work, its power to make things beautiful and full of wonder.  She felt encouraged in the middle of a day of challenges, and renewed for her own adventures into the unknown.

And now the goldsmith and the wordsmith are hard at work, in their workshops and at their desks, making…

I long for stars

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I long for stars,
look up and yearn for height,
brilliance,
light
and beauty.

Here in the humdrum
I am lucky if I get to dazzle
for even a moment.

I look down,
stepping carefully
to avoid pavement cracks
and bears.

There is a fog
of confusion
everywhere.
People proffer answers
to questions they
barely understand.

I long for stars;
we were kindred spirits
once.
Where did we lose
ourselves?

I concentrate on
simple tasks.
Stuck in skin,
I wrestle ceaselessly,
ceaselessly restless.
People tell me to
calm down.

I long for stars;
we are quantumly
entangled. Paired
for eternity, our
subatomic particles
duet.

I long for stars.
Waves of homesickness
overcome me.

I long for stars.