Elsewhere

The novel I should be writing, because I have many pages, is titled Otherwise Entertained. Should you have an interest, you can visit, Chronicles, and find most of it. I do not recall the exact locations at this moment, but I think it is mostly in 2012’s NaNoWriMo month, and then scattered about a bit. I was doing my first Creativity Project around then, a whole year and a half.

My novel presents a scene that is elsewhere, and yet, a part of that story at the same time. It is a problem. I know what to write, I just know it will stretch beyond plausibility, and I know the story cannot move without it. Plus, I procrastinate, I am the best at it.

Elsewhere

It is where I go
When the world becomes too hard
For my tired desire,
I wrap myself in mysteries,
Fancy creativity;
Search within for love
Enough to carry me on
Into cruel hard times,
When my mind becomes a pool
All dangerous, dark, obscure.
Impossible now,
Escape an imaginative
Dream, when I am lost
To whoever I may be,
But I come winning again.
Steal me sweet Elsewhere,
Take me wherever then set
Me firm so I can succeed
In this, every reality,
Let Love minister to me,
Healing this wounded soul as
Freedom becomes, Elsewhere, mine.

By the way, these entries, unless denoted differently, are being written in real-time on the date of appearance. The goal of the Creativity Project is to make things each day, not present pre-created works. Some of the photos are, however, from other times.

As a prompt: What is your elsewhere, where do you find strength? Create something that shows it or what it does.

I am grateful to be done proofing, although I could use more funds. I think tomorrow I may take some time away from here.

All you be careful, create, love, celebrate the pure joy of life. Thank you for visiting Haphazard Creative. I hope you found something that inspired you. Follow the site or come back when you can. God Bless and Keep You, Always, and Forever.

What I Want To Be…

Do you ever ask yourself who you want to be?
I do, and mostly, I know, but there is confusion
and a need to grow into me, upward, onward,
stronger, further, into maturity. Yes, I know 56
should be grown-up, but there is still some kid in me.
I want to be a publisher whose first client is me,
and take the world by storm, inevitably.
I also want to record some of the songs
I let loose into the air, never writing down,
just enjoying the richness of
creating words and sounds.
I would like to be a Laureate since the Poet
is an undeniable force in me. Dreaming, dreaming,
silly one, all a coward can be
is marginalized and hidden in obscurity.
I could coach someone, but I lack credentials
and have no proven success to make me worthy of faith.
I would like to advocate for the mentally ill,
being a prime example of our competence
when given advantages allowing us to live functionally.
My real purpose is love, accepting everyone, reaching
those who might be overlooked or cast away – showing
even in the worst of times, there is through love
a way to make it into a brighter day.
Some people say God is dead,
they have not seen Him in the love of others.
Jesus cannot reach the world without we allow,
Him to be seen, obviously, in us. I would be one.
Money is not mine, and out of my dungeon,
I may never climb. Still, if I could, what
dreams exist in my heart and mind.

This was paragraphs, still a poem, so I added line breaks. The rhyme that kept creeping in told me I had to take it from prose poem to broken. I see myself being hugely open over the last few days here. It is not really my way, shadows taunt and scare me.

Okay, your turn, what do YOU want to be? Can you take steps to make it a reality? Dreams do not come true without a plan.

Keystone

When the windows are all closed,
The locks engaged barring doors,
We must find the keys, or remain
Without entrance to our destiny;
Others can lend us assistance
If we give them an opportunity.
Sometimes we see a closed portal
And turn ourselves away
Because searching for the key
Is hard and locations past
Still hold our interest, rooted,
In comfort zones, we know well.
Growth, change, learning,
Are our reasons to exist,
Walking through the doors
Is what we are made to do;
Our creativity is a boon
Even giving us our keys.
Storm the doors, unlock
The windows – allow the freshness
Inside for the secret of happiness
Lies in the brilliance of accomplishment;
We all have potential we fail
To recognize, but we must
Our strengths, passions, realize,
Knowing within us God created
Talent and ability, vision to achieve
A life full, free, loving, given to shine;
We are placed to nurture the world.
Discover the key, make history!

I know she does not directly relate to the poem. The Wookie is just a part of those gifts that keep me present and moving forward. She does not care for cameras though.

Unhitched

I loaded all my troubles
Into an old wagon and hitched
It to myself, as if it was terrific.
I came to understand my worry
Carried around, so weighty,
Could nary a problem solve.
I arrested myself in my circular
Tracks, and dumped the wagon
Content into the hardy, healthy weeds,
Choosing my life to free in love,
Knowing there was more in me
Than recognized or seen.
Abandoned, the wagon stays
To remind me there are ways
I can deal with fearful days,
Without sacrificing my peace
To an unreasonable burden,
Doubt, uncertainty, serves no purpose.
The fright still comes time and again,
But the wagonload does not like
A misfortunate encumbrance remain,
I have given it away to the care
Of God who can lessen, negate,
All the pain, making me whole again.
If I wallow then in misery
I have chosen to abdicate the power
My Savior pricelessly bought and wrought
That I might live life to the fullest
Completely abundant, blessed now
And chosen for eternity.

I was going to post the wagon, but I have used it before. You may imagine I can dump my troubles out among the woods here.

I am reading a book, intermittently, called Why Poetry, which I dip into, then even though I do not follow it, I get inspired.

As a prompt, create something inspired by something written, even if you are only tangentially relating to it.

I am so grateful to have some things appearing in the February issue of the Villa Rica News & Views.

Bless you. Be well. Remember, shadows only last a while, and you are stronger than you believe. You can successfully achieve whatever you dream.

It Is For Such Days…

I am 56 years old, my son is 31. For years circumstances have widely separated us geographically. We have remained best friends through the wonders of technology. The kid got his first computer at age three. He is wildly creative, has over 100,000 words on a novel you will hear about soon enough. He has been home with me since early December, except for a few trips he took to visit others.

I irritate him a lot; I have bizarre idiosyncrasies. We get along, though, and we work together somewhat. He wants me to be bold, like himself, I am a coward. I asked him last night if he would go with me today. I explained it was Norma’s memorial service, for which Richard requested I write a poem and read it there. He surprised me and said yes. Alex is an inspiration to me always; we have been through so much.

We got Chick-Fil-A for lunch, which Alex puts up memes about being God’s restaurant. He allowed me to read the poem because I do not do public readings. He said I did it well. I thought, well, maybe I can do it.

We got there way early. My Mom always believed in being way early, and I seem to carry on her habit. We talked. We went inside, and I was reproached because there was an individual there, and I mentioned it to Alex. He was right, but… and he says there are no buts. Anyway, we went back outside. It did not seem many people I knew were about that early.

When we came back inside, one of the funeral directors talked to me and gave me an order of service. We spoke to Richard when the room opened. When we sat, one of my favorite people came up, and I got hugs. I love hugs. We promised to be better in touch. I hope it occurs.

When the service began, some very renowned poets were read by a very distinguished person. She opened the floor for attendees to speak, there was no movement or sound. So she said, maybe Jo Ann Jordan, who is a local poet, would like to say something. Yeah, me. I walked up to the steps and prayed that my knees would allow me to make it up to the podium. It was a near thing. You do not know my knees.

Next, I stumbled through the presentation.

Betwixt Times

Sometimes two people
Find the perfect match within
One another and mesh
So their souls permanently
Entwine, declaring them complete.

Cherishing each other
They come to understand
Their bond is so rich,
Their complement so pure;
Lives shared are exceptional.

Norma and Richard
Were always present to give,
Contribute whatever
Was required for their success;
And helping others do their best.

Love infused their lives
So there could be no doubt
Their dedication
To one another was sure and true,
Adoring, always respecting, the two.

Working together
They did it in perfect sync,
Creating things of which
Others could only dream;
They were a successful team.

Norma was a rare beauty,
Quiet in public, but given
To laughter and devotion,
Kind, tender, precious, sweetness,
Expressing love at home.

It is a tearful loss
Dealt out of season, against time,
The world a bit dimmer,
Without the smiles and gentleness
Norma so freely shared with all.

Her creativity
Dedication, work ethic,
Motivation we can
Hope to reflect, even as
We miss Norma’s selflessness.

“With Norma and our two kitties, we have had a home full of continuous love, respect, laughter, and adoration.” – Mr. Richard Nichols

I did the poem reading my large print copy with some muddling when I had to change pages. When I did manage to look up, there was Alex, smiling, which no one knows how that helped.

I got all messed up on Richard’s quote adding extra ands, but it really is a miracle I could do it at all. I love and respect Norma and Richard more than I can express. They have been mentors and friends to me. My copy editing is directly due to their influence.

I forgot to pray before I headed down those steps, and what a mess I made.

The service was the most inspirational memorial I have ever seen. Richard spoke, and I managed not to cry there, but I have tears now.

Norma had a truly angelic spirit and was one of the most highly intelligent creative people ever. She will be sorely missed.