Week 15~ Juxtapose

1.)

Smooth and rhythmical.
Hunting like little bloodhounds as I tried retracing my steps
The things you've seen, done, thought, and felt.
We've evolved to be hunters
Proceed cautiously
Series of reversals, challenges needing to be overcome.
Characters left standing.
Tales, anecdotes, yarns,
The world will beat a path to your door.
It is not the king, it is the courtier.
A deeper understanding, a different focus
Everything seemed so right. I didn't jump in. I took my time
Details, examples, stories from your first-hand experience.
Because, to see what is in front of one's nose requires a constant struggle.
Accepting shadows and imitations.
You can't do that.
Look at the story, see the details
Pushed to the limit and right under your nose,
If only you will open your eyes,
Face the whole nasty confusing, messy, itchy, stinky thing
Improve your prose, look at it,
See your problems, change your stuff
You're reading, first, for clumsy constructions, silly-sounding sentences, Unintended repetition, confusion.
You'll hear those things when you may not see them
It is meant to be heard,
To have breath pushing the words out into the universe and giving them rhythm and melody.
Living off the page, as well as on.
Your writing is your material--will IT fail YOU?
A transference of energy from performer to audience and back again.”
The words are you, you are them.
Giving tongue to your prose: turning yourself into your words and turning your words into you.
Too easily satisfied!
The individual?
Write right up to your elbows.
Write something alive.
Black and white
Throw in a little fancy stuff
Let it off its leash
Know thyself
Listen, talk
You passing through the larger world, you embedded in bigger things
The is tire spinning, you're wading in.
Beautiful and bold, the other is scaredy-cat and not-pretty.
Get rid of the rubber, let go of the diving board.

2.)

It is autumn and I can feel the air changing
The cool wind that rushes upon my face and up my spine
The smell of the crisp air is intoxicating
I love this time of year
Most of the summer blooms have gone by
Dead foliage is at hand
A gust of wind comes up from behind me, rousing the sleeping leaves on the road. A twister of colors; red, orange, yellow, and brown dance around me,
Green fabric stretched out across the shy earth and the shock of baby blue sky
Indigo lake dancing with the light from the sun
Mountains looming tall in the backdrop
Trees with fleeting leaves, changing in their brilliance
A quilt of many colors spread wide over the treetops
Remembering the hill side in the peak of summer covered with lupins. Their pink, purple and blue hues illuminating the fields of grass as a flawless sky
sets the scene
Just a memory
Drink in the landscape of the earth.
My ears turn to wind
Roots take over my veins
Lying on my back in the tall grass, spotting animals in the clouds
I’d sit on logs like pulpits and listen to the sermon of sparrows,
Hearing the song of a finch singing from a nearby tree
Belting out the last few chords of his masterpiece, watching as he flies off towards the sky
Finding god in simplicity there among the dandelion and thorns
I look up once more towards the trees; they’re bare now, hollow skeletons shaking in the wind
It’s late; the moon is bright and full, guiding along side me
The ground is dirtier but the same old memories still exist,
Inspired
I want to capture it because I might never see it again.
At times it seems like, in a moment a year can pass before your eyes or a single minute can feel like forever
Don’t get caught up in the moment but let the moment catch up to you.
It’s peaceful and full of wonder…