A poem about the creative process: What Comes It’s how you listen, isn’t it? Whether the signals are clear or false can’t matter. What matters is the matter that results–the art, the words, the figure caught in stone. Who produced its perfection before you? A listener? A guide? A sleeper with a faster eye? No, this can’t happen. We don’t draw inspiration from a well, but rather it rains down upon us like rays of light, a single candle illuminating the Universe, its colors diverse and constant. How can one avoid it? Shut ears and eyes with earth, and still its rays penetrate. It’s Life as defined by God, an ocean immersing each rock, each ridge, each spider and each kiss. It drowns me now, and now I can perceive The need to know, and yet the need to leave... -- April Campbell Jones
Posted on: Sun, 03 Nov 2013 22:26:13 +0000
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