Wednesday, November 18, 2009

If I were a poet

IF I were a poet (sing to: The Fiddler on the Roof)

If I were a poet (sing to: If I had a Hammer...)

Ok, that's a scary glimpse inside my brain while jogging and seeing cool stuff I'd describe much better if I were a POET.
Yes, I know this blog is sort of supposed to be about the life of a working artist-type.

But sometimes there is not much to write:

I get up and reluctantly emerge from my cozy warm bed, make coffee, drink coffee while reading the internet(s), put on my jogging costume, go jogging, come home, shower & change into my work costume, work with my lovely assistant T, put on my yoga costume, go to yoga, come home, eat something, change into my "second shift" costume (jammies), work while sipping something like red wine or gin or decaf tea with milk while watching something mildly engaging on TV or dvd, and go to bed, read, sleep...

Or I could write about all the amazing thoughts inside my head:

"oh! can we possibly get everything done on time? damn, that piece is cracked, what an adorable kitten! I''m hungry, pizza sounds good, oh, right, I don't eat pizza, where is that one piece that is supposed to go with that order? here? but it's the wrong color, oh, that one broke? damn, I'd better make another, how is it I work all the time and STILL don't make any money? keep practicing gratefulness: I have a roof over my head, I love my job, I have an adorable kitten, UPS will be here soon, can we get the labels printed in time? I wonder what colors I should paint the next batch? Oh-oh, the paint is dripping, oh, will you look at that adorable kitten? I don't WANT to go jogging today, I have too much work to do, what would be the harm of one day off? Just get out there and do it and quit your whining, I hope I get a couple payments in the mail today, the mortgage and health insurance are due in three days, Is it REALLY mid-November? Do I REALLY have to deliver to the Pratt sale THIS Friday? Ohhhhhh, the anxiety is knotting up my stomach, don't think! just keep working! It will be ok. No problem. Don't think! Just Do! Wow, what a beautiful color THAT is! Look at this piece, I don't know if I can part with it, it's so gorgeous!

(and so on and so on...)

So the thoughts inside my head are a little boring to, no?

Unless you take the hilarious and scintillating conversations T. and I have when we are spending our days working together. Details will not released, but I CAN tell you that we are brilliant, hilarious, insightful, and that we laugh so hard I've come to rely on it for my abdominal strengthening. Oh yes, really. WE are truly hilarious. Odd that no one else gets it.

But back to the "if I were a poet" thing.

A couple days ago as I was running along the path by the lake (in the rain, mind you), a big flock of small black water fowl floating on the lake all started flapping and skimming the surface of the water at once. The water was whipped into a silver froth, and the birds were black dots stitched like beads on a silver chiffon tutu. Accompanied by a sound exactly like one of those "rain sticks" that sound so cool when you tip them from one end to the other. Poetry, I tell you!

And then yesterday (it was COLD!) I was jogging along a neighborhood sidewalk and one forlorn pink rosebud was hanging over a fence. It's stem was nearly rotted, and the bud itself was ragged and turning a bit brown on its outer petals. I took a moment to sniff if (for some reason) and was immediately startled by the sweet, sweet scent still present in that dying bud.
The courage! The bravery! The persistence! To keep bringing forth its sweetness in spite of all the obstacles (huge wind, rain, frost) thrown in its path. And likely, I was the only one who had the inclination to stop and sniff the offering of the nearly dead bud. I was touched by the metaphor of something barely living but still able to share its sweetness even if it would never be appreciated. In spite of it all.

If I were a poet!


  1. It would be extremely boring maintaining a singular thought or action for indefinite periods of time. Yet, when creating something there's total focus with task at hand. Randomness or discipline? Conflict of mental processes? I don't think so ... All those small things seemed to get processed and when the time is right all the pieces fit into the jigsaw puzzle of creativity.

  2. wow Bill, thank you for you thoughtful and generous comment! Yes, creativity I think can probably only be born out of such a mess. It is reassuring to hear your comment.

  3. good morn Melinda..

    thinking about you today...
    mona & the girls
    will be in touch

  4. feels like you are a pooet.

  5. gaffergirls: thanks for reading! Keep up your great work.

    Anonymous: thank you so much! Sometimes things come out I don't expect, and surprise me. This was one of those things.