Pens, Tanka, Joined Tanka Poems; & More

Most people I know who are writers are pen aficionados, and I am guilty. I have been collecting pens for an age. I like to put them at the top of my website, but their provenance varies. The one up there now is one of a bunch I picked up during the time Target had exotic pens. I could afford to spend very little on them, and there they were. I do not think any of them were over $10.

The thing about those pens is that many of them are just as beautiful as costly ones today. I try to control my obsession.

Behave, stop looking,
Now, do not go there, be good,
Avoid, remain free,
Go look at the collection
No pen do you need, require.

I once thought if I had a Mont Blanc, I would have arrived as a writer. Sam’s Club used to sell them in the 2000s. I had worked for a while, then wound up hospitalized. While working, I got my pen. My thoughts on arrival were erroneous. I begin to doubt ever arriving. My investment in becoming a competent and self-educated writer, though, has been intense.

Alex is after me to get rid of books and clothes, and I am not reacting docilely to the suggestion. He has not gone after the pens, though. I can hope he has not noticed, but more likely, being trained in military tactics, he is biding his time and wishing to obtain those other objectives before attacking another front.

He told me today, for the first time in my life, I wish you were normal. I wish I were normal, it would be so much easier. I have never been normal. I do thank God I am at least partially functional.

Today, I got the call par excellence, Monday, is my trip to the psychiatrist. As usual, I would love to instead send someone else, attend by proxy. All-day, it takes all day.

Love Holds

I think of you, blue,
The sky, sea, the heart of me,
Without an answer,
I think my incompetence
Yet I dream you, many things.

Did I say too much
Or provide you too little,
I was way off stride,
So much depends on the words
Yet, sometimes language evades.

I fought crystal tears
Light icicles, waterfalls,
Wonder if I am
Anything, anyone, one
Better than imagining.

I step back into
Shadows, blue-black and opaque,
If it is, maybe,
Time freely given, settles,
Around these forsaken feet.

Time is a captor
Of hearts, loves all meant sublime
Whatever will be,
Will be, times without number
At my organ, I sang and played.

I thought to have left
Uncertainties behind, but
I find the circle
Wheels round, round, over again
But I scarce remember why.

As a prompt: Our hearts and minds often overwhelm us. If you feel your emotions, thoughts, adrift in a whirlpool, put a hook in, and pull out something. Then take it, elaborate, gnaw at it, and create a work in your chosen art. Let it be random. If that means a computerized randomizer or a jar with slips of paper, it might be just what you need.

I want you to know you are beautiful, worthy, talented, and you have a purpose. Do not give up. Many people believe you are precious, even if they do not express it. You, you be the one to express love and sow hope. I believe in you.

When we open our eyes to nature, even the weeds are beautiful. God creates paintings if we choose to see.

How/Now

This is not the time
To give in, give up, become
Quaking shadows of ourselves,
This is a moment to be
Bold, courageous, undefeated,
Unstoppable in our bargain.
If we quit, the present, future,
Will never know our hopes,
The world will not realize
The goals we have often dreamed;
We are creators, innovators,
Of shining fortunes only
We can bring unto fruition
Born into this reality.
We must continue tenaciously, now,
Dismiss doubt, fear, negativity,
Bring the best of who we are
And who we are meant to be,
We are those who can, and will,
Practice creativity with love
Enough to change our lives, others,
Into tapestries of bright positivity.

Keeper

I ride the swirling
Ocean of unsought feelings
Forever wishing
I could harness the thunder
Of waves upon a rocky shore.

I, and me, argue
Individuality
No compromise becomes
Myself, for a writer, must
Continually create.

The self, a work left,
For God, in holy wisdom,
To manifest who
I may become through permit,
Gifted creativity.

I am haunted, chased,
By dreams unresolved, tossed,
Upon the heaping
Pile of what might once have been,
Bartering, to begin again.

This storm, this battle,
I in Him will place my trust,
Whatever comes, must,
I shall stand though opinion
May dissuade, I will believe.

There is, and now shall always
Be a future for those like me.

I originally came here this evening to inform you who read due to lack of response, 2020, has been canceled. Fortunately, that is beyond my power. However, my 2o2o Creativity Project – 365, can come to a screeching halt with the application of my intention.

Perhaps it would be better to do it privately, but I seem to dislike that idea. Here, you find me still.

I see all these things about giving up technology for money, but all are hypothetical. None really say they have the money. I think they know they would lose. My pets, pens, books, journals, and typewriter would keep me. Without cash in hand, though, best leave my stash alone.

Keep well. Find pleasure. Be better than yesterday.

See ya.

Squiggles

We always do this
Who write – put black onto white
The leaving of minds,
Staged for another to read
If we in labor succeed.

Most miserable found
Without an implement to
Scribe wayward thoughts down,
For the perfect line easy
Slips away, obscurity.

Sometimes ourselves are
Captured, hidden though written
With precise phrases,
All the hope, joy, light, love, is
To overcome mistakes made.

We know creation
Ushers in another world
Within the mind, heart,
Which may dispel the darkness
At least for a little while.

So merry squiggles
Honest, many, construct, make
The world needs stories
To break out of its prison
We free dreams, to breathe, become.

Write writers, show,
Tell, illuminate the dark
For people can grow
When they find treasures within
The pages on which you bestow –

SQUIGGLES!

Ladies and gentlemen, I urge you to create. It is a wonderful break from a world that all too often is heavy and dispiriting. In your process, when shared, you may lift some other life and encourage them to engage in creativity.

As a prompt, pick up a book or whatever you have been reading, open it randomly, let a word set you to thinking or verge off the word to one of your own.

Never let yourself become too busy to indulge in at least a few moments per day of creation. Your heart and soul will suffer if you do.

Thank you for reading Haphazard Creation. I hope you enjoyed your time here. Please follow or come again.

All the best to you and yours. Let love be your guide.

By the way, the poem is joined tankas, but for the last line.

AWay (Joined Tankas & More)

2020-01-26_A Way

This drawing was done last week, but I was not happy with it. Still practicing. I have to find my way in that too.

2020-01-26_Drawing

I finished the book, The Ten Thousand Doors of January last night. This book was a pure delight. I give it a five only because most ratings do not go to ten. I recommend you read it. Love, adventure, complicated relationships, the power of Words. I will not spoil it.

This is one of my current reads: