Why I enjoy Writing?
During interviews and general conversations with the public,one of the most difficult questions for me to answer(timely and thoroughly) is,"Why do you enjoy writing"?
So due to the challenge manifested in such a question,I pondered on creating an answer. Many reasons came to mind,but after digesting much"time for thought",I managed to condense my response to three items. I enjoy writing for three reasons: self-expression,personal sensitivity and thirst for adventure.
"Self-expression" is our Creator's gift to all-everyone has something to say. The difference comes with how a person expresses him or herself. Having an outlet to relieve ones inner turmoil or joy is necessary;and when the results is a wholesome creation of some type,it should be shared with others.Complexity arises when trying to express how others feel because a person's self-expression(being a writer) is a prerequisite to understanding another's expression(being an editor). There's an interwovenness of personal feelings,dogma and personality associated with a person's self-expression. Much of what writers' convey is the result of the chemistry of feelings,experience or both.Most of the time the writers' feelings prevail.Deep down in all of us there are voices whose vocal chords are pencils waiting to be sharpened and used. Self-expression is the breath of opinion,the dissipation of disposition and the only river worth drowning in. "Honesty" rules the castle of "self-expression".
"Personal sensitivity" varies from person to person. Much of a person's ethical,ethnical,moral and environmental exposers dictates his or her perception of the world. Some writers concentrate only on a certain discipline of their total resources. Others are more roaming and experimental as to absorb from a combination of all sensations obtained. Inspiration ignites sensitivity whether it be something heard,felt or read. To be able to define a sensation by the use of words is satisfying. Sensations make,break,increase and decrease the rhythms of ones mental and physical compositions. Ones "degree of compassion" rules the castle of "personal sensitivity".
The "thirst for adventure" deters boredom. Anyone, whether being a writer or not,imagines events,incidents,possibilities and probabilities in their minds.These mental occurrences(visions) dwell within us for short periods of time and sometimes forever. But until the inspirations are subjected to some type of tangible(music,painting,literature,sculpture,etc.)medium, they can't be documented and shared with others. If you don't want to be creative,you won't be!! Good writers aren't born,they are crafted!!! You are the characters that you write about!! You're a vital part of the incidents you describe. If you're writing about a diehard tyrant,you are that tyrant!! If it's a voyage around the world,you're on that voyage!! Merely sitting in the boat won't do it!!! One must set sail to quench the "thirst for adventure".
Writers are day-in day-out dreamers,dressed in all colors,travelling across paper pulp by way of a dictionary.
Now I ask you,"Why do you enjoy writing"?
By: Arthur Charles Ford Sr.,poet/lyricistP.O. BOX 4725,PITTSBURGH,PA. 15206
Copyright © .A.C.Ford,Sr.,2003
For My Mother
I cannot bear to thinkof when you will be gone.I do not understandhow I will get along.
Thank You To Our Soldiers And A Tribute To Old Glory And A Prayer For Peace
Thank youDedicated to soldiers and their loved onesFor those who have laid in fox holes,carried guns,marched for hours.For those who have had cold sleepless nights,endless days of discomfort.
The Gaul of La Laguna de Paca
Part OneI tell you a legend of long agoOf the sunken city of La Laguna de Paca,(Where I had met a lingering ghost)Within this region of Huancayo--Peru;Truth lies, but only the soul knows.Part TwoSo the legend goes, of long ago:During the rising of the full moonThe Mermaid of La Laguna de Paca, appearsAnd to the nearby towns folks, she echoes.
Three Poems and Paradise Lost [One for Hell, One for Heaven one for an Inca King]
The Torrents of HellHell's furnace-Likened to a chimneyVomits her torrentsOf flames-Into the airThrough earths crustAnd the earth's trembles-!Agitated, she projectsA thick curtain of smokeTo heat the feet of thoseWho provoke her every wish.Like molten ironShe waits for the soul(the moment)Then molds, into her enclosureHuman serpents?Out of savage flesh!No storm, no struggleNo eruption, no typhoon,Just a terrible phenomenon,Hell is capable of producing;And upon death,Back into the AbyssThey melt!.
Robert Burns Love Poem: A Red, Red Rose
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Mechanical Poetry; Part Two
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Three Love Poems [all wicked]
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Anne Bradstreet, To My Dear and Loving Husband, A Discussion
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Our home was warm in the shade of the trees or when the sun was not upon it.It was built on the side of a hill, near a lake where spirits could be free.
Black Blood, in Jeremiahs Vines - A Poem and an Article
Black Blood, in Jeremiah's Vines[A Dream Poem]And I heard the crackling of wood, and I noticed the Lord God had made men of wood, and fire came from his mouth.Then the wind poured its grief upon us-over our sins; and I heard the words for the seventh time, "Go to the mountains!"Foolish people of this land pray and understand-for He cometh! Thereof, toss yourself to thy knees, for the roar of rebellious men will bleed: black blood, through the vines of Jeremiah.
Shaking out the Rugs [Following the Poet]
Let's follow the poet to hisHell and heaven! Count hisGhosts and dilemma's?Reach out to touch hisStretched-out skies; let's followThe poet to see where he lays.Let's follow the poet to his end;To see if he can?whateverHe wants to do, do over again?.
Two Poems: Boyhood, and Old Age [with a note on style]
BoyhoodOh me! Thy glorious days have flown!I mealy noticed, now they're gone,How quickly passed the flowers!Time does not stop youth's bells;It was like I was in a spell,And my face now shows the hours!Ah yes! My youthful past days,Still lively in my golden age,When all was quick and newNow wrapped in pictures and books,And friends and family were all I knewAnd love was shown by friendly looks!#741 6/26/05Old AgeThey stop by to see me nowTo find what's old and new,They peer into my-everything, And criticize my views;They tell me what I should like,And that I should be grieved-These are my fragile friends That takes the strongest liberties?I mean to take the buzzer off;And put the phone outside the door;In vain I speak to tell them why-I shan't live here anymore!#742 6/26/05A note on Style: some people ask, "What style of poetry to you like the best?" I can never answer that question; it is open-ended to me. If I feel like breaking free from tradition as in the poem of: "Old Age," so be it; and if I feel traditional verse, a stricter formal pattern should be used, as in "Boyhood," and can contribute richly to the poem, so it is.
In Poetry: Meaning of Words [And ...Rocket-belt]
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Walt Whitman, Romance With a Stranger
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Top 20 Poetry Quotations
Explore the meaning of poetry and the motivation of poets with this special collection of evocative quotations..
Shadows of the Andes; Ollantayambo; and Cesar Vallejo [Poems in English and Spanish]
1) Shadows of the Andes [or: Song to the Andes]I shall blend-in, into theMountains-Into the faintest thinShadowsof the mountains!Like the moss on moistenedStoneLike a leaf blown far fromHome?(freshly fallen)!I shall blend-in, clingingTo the mountains-Into its faintest thinShadowsNote: when I arrived back home from Peru, my 7th trip in five years [April, 2005], I had spend about 30-days this time on the trip. I visited the Mantaro Valley, Huancayo, and drove through the Andes.
Mother, I Dont Mind The Pain
I am among those who know that one never recovers from the loss of one deeply loved. We come to accept the death and adjust our lives - rather begrudingly, but we do not recover, we survive.
Because of You
You are to me my lifelinemy security.That scares me.
Tsunami -a Poem Dedicated To Help Aid and Awareness and Encourage Future Harmony. Make Peace Not War
Real Power.One Tsunami, and all our armies,Seem belittled by their wars,What Animals fled, and tribesmen read,Finally Arrives with crushing roar,Wholesale slaughter, purely by water,Makes us seem an irrelevance,Concepts of power, change by the hour,Faced with primal elements.
Ocean Heal Me
Ocean Heal MeOcean heal my woundsLet your waves curl and foam on my bodyWash away blood, heal scarsOcean renew me with your powerAs unceasingly you rollGiving strength that's been drainedOcean keep me warmWrap me in your brineCaress me with your tidesOcean disperse my tearsAs they flow in youI cleanse my soulOcean let me grow in your depthsColor me vibrant blue, coral, greenClear = revitalizedOcean your spray anoints meCool and refreshedMy spiritual renewalOcean be my friendHold me flowing in your currentsEver moving, ever changingOcean, heal me.© 1983 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is a researcher, author and teacher.