A POEM BEGINS WITH A LUMP IN THE THROAT

The title is from Robert Frost.

Me? I'm trying to figure out why I have not been able to write.

Normally writing is not a simply a compulsion - it's a necessity for me.

It may because my damaged brain needs to see words physically banged out, misspelled, and in increasingly random disarray.

Because I think the methodology of checked, moving, putting in correct order, helps my thinking process to somehow straighten out.

Or maybe not.

 

 I think right now with hugely conflicting emotions dueling on my inner stage, the brawl must be completed, the winner recognized, before I can write about it.

At least I hope - I miss this blog.

"Poetry is man's rebellion against being what he is." ~James Branch Cabell

OPPOSITES ATTRACT

"Thanks!" I shouted, as the gracefully soaring airplane turned and smashed into the concrete.

Do you have days that are filled with unbelievable sweetness and light, and then crashes into despair, splattering your heart across counties?

Or perhaps I just need to get my medications monitored.

It began today with spending a joyous hour with my granddaughter, going through and touching, smelling and playing with almost every single toy on the shelves of the local Target.

Times which I try to engrave on my heart.

It hit rock bottom when my grandson asked what my favorite grade in school had been.

I try very much to not dwell on unpleasant memories - and so many of my grade school years seem to have been filled with those.

It may be that I am leaving in just another nine days.

And it may be because I'm going home in another nine days.