by Jeri James
I can’t leave it if I try. I’m hopelessly addicted to the phrases, the stanza’s, the rhyme.
I want to feel things. I want to write about it. I want to assign a melody to a theme. I have tried to hang it up and walk away. I needed to focus on logic and general management. I felt that the art was a stumbling block. I felt that it was a detour, a childish toy. I screamed at it. I tried to scare it off. No more scraps…no more attention…NO. MORE.
I woke up from that bad dream , only to find the music and poetry lying faithfully, loyally at my feet. Like a guardian. Like an assignment. I knew I could never scare this stray away. The art is bigger than I am. If I cop an attitude, it will turn its very back on me and stonewall me for a half a night. If I’m prideful, the poetry will throw a root wad under my step and break my stride. If I am contrite and careful…if I am hopeful…my wild lyric will return and happen along the supernatural fence line. I hold out a gentle palm and the art will nibble at my finger tips. I remove my shoes and music leads me along a chattering brook, filled with clues to my next song.
I am a song writer and a story teller . For that proclamation, I will choose to embrace any gift in me for the betterment of others. I choose this day, a grateful heart and expectancy. I pray my pen produces food for your smile, sparkles for your eyes, and the heart of imagination; to even to the most bland and mundane sort .