My World is Alive

The boys left for school. Juliana Skye is fussing perfectly. There is no wind, and the sun is bright. I am cold, and so is my coffee. I wrote one poem today. Now I'm writing to us: by us I mean when I blog I am writing to anyone willing to read and also to myself.

Holly and I made a schedule of writing and tasks for me to complete in blocks of time throughout my day. It's easy to do nothing without one. My day starts off with creative writing, then blogging, then emails and networking, followed by article writing for demandstudios.com (an online content company I write for), then applying for writing jobs emailed to me, from across the room, by Holly. Lunch time is a combination of eating, loving Holly, and a meeting of writing ideas and business related topics.

After lunch I start with magazine article writing, followed by submitting poems to journals and contests, then emailing, promoting, networking, then either creative, journalistic, or article writing, finally ending my writing day with researching and generating ideas. I am thankful for this schedule, and thankful to Holly for believing in this venture.

I wonder how Owen will do with his new speech teacher this year. I am happy Aidan's anger has subsided for the most part. Tyler likes algebra. That is pleasing. Juliana Skye has blue eyes that seem as if they were  excavated from a Pharaoh's tomb, or harvested from the green earth.  Juliana's eyes are two beautiful poems.

Before I sat down for my creative writing session this morning I picked out three books from my library to generate creative energy...The Lice Poems by W.S. Merwin, The Cloud of Unknowing, and one of my favorite books of the last four years Man and Camel: Poems. A sure blend of madness of various sorts. My world is alive! How could I title today's blog anything else? Below is the poem from this morning's creative writing session.

We can only eat from the ripe vine she says,

lashing out with her eyes.

This is the bright fruit, I'm going to eat it.

Stay alert. If the clouds turn subtle

take cover. Invert your eyes. We are alone,

but we are not dead. She cries, and the stillness holds firm.

The ocean lapps at the salt on our feet.

The Sun torments us a hundred times,

and offers no warmth. The Earth provides no cloth

or shelter. The tree is no sage, the wind a dead prophet.

I eat the fruit, come see my wealthy body, my opulent eyes.

She crawls on the sand, whispers fearful music to sea,

creates the map of chaos, hands me the eye balls

of Earth-bound angels with blood tipped spears.

I touch her head, annoint her devil, feed her beast.

I tell the earth to sit, keep the gods at bay,

restore order. I annoint the world.