Creative Rise and Fall

The muse comes roaring in

I’m on fire 

lifted high to the skies

of possibility

Ideas flow freely

I move with excitement

accomplishing artistic tasks

I write, I paint

I’m up in the clouds

full of creative joy

Hours pass until

hunger and lightheadedness

permeate my concentration

I stop to eat

but filling the hole in my belly

punches one in the magic carpet

The bubble of creativity popped

the muse disappears

and I slam back to earth

utterly spent and brain dead

I’m exhausted past thinking

but the essence

of creative soaring

lingers in my soul

and I can’t wait

for the next visit.

--Sasha Wolfe

White Water and Creative Banks

Paddling the middle of a raging river

its white water threatens to swamp my boat

as I strong-arm my way

through life’s journey

 

On either side

the banks of creativity

full of beautiful scenery

await the pen or pastel

 

Bushes of words on one side

grasses of paint strokes on the other

cajole me, encourage me,

beg me to stop

 

Sometimes

the choice is easy

as to which side

I’ll pull my boat

 

Sometimes

the pull from both sides

is demanding

Do I paint or write?

 

And sometimes

the river is so strong

with life’s issues

I can’t pull out of the current

 

Long arms of creativity

shadowy reflections across the water

reach with ghostlike fingers

to pull me from my boat

 

The call to create

is overpowering

If I don’t heed its plea

I will be devoured by the river

 

I’m torn to which side

to rest my boat on

but know, too, whichever choice

will be the right one.

Photo’s Inspiration

Sometimes the lines

across the page

take on a different

kind of pace

 

Lines that do not match

the guiding photograph

decide their own

unique course

breaking free

of what was planned

 

To chart its own course

I let my hand move

sometime doubting

but also trusting the process

 

In the end

the painting tells me

when it is done

and I am satisfied.

Free Fall Painting

I stare at the photo

but my hand

takes on

a mind of its own

 

It won’t listen to

what my eyes see,

refuses to connect

to my logical mind

 

What I think I see

doesn’t transmit

to the strokes

falling on the page

 

Something else

takes over my hand

forming their own shapes

similar, but not quite like the photo

 

I’m in free fall

as the painting seems to

dictate where to move

my hand

 

I can’t stop

and can’t tell

what is me

and what is the painting

 

Suddenly it lets me go

I back away

from the easel

 and look back

 

Its unique voice

echoes through me,

not in real words, pleading,

“Make me, create me”

 

But once my logical mind

kicks in

the moments are passed and

the self-questioning begins.

Words on a Page

Words on a page –

a response

to my statements

Opinions –

insinuating I’m wrong

Disbelief –

that I could

have such a different

point of view from them

Heaven forbid

I see beyond the surface

Heaven forbid

I speak to what I see

and believe

is really happening

Like always,

the old feelings

of displeasing someone

fill me

I try not to be angry,

try not to let the hurtful words

bring me down

nor think poorly of those

whom I consider friends

I pull back

vow to myself

not to speak freely again

But wait!

I refuse to put up

with negative responses

I would not

speak thusly to them

I hold fast my words,

stand strong in my convictions

I don’t require agreement

only respect

I have the right

to my own beliefs!

Last I knew

the First Amendment

has not been revoked –

yet –

Is it becoming

freedom of speech

is only for certain people?

My choices are

not for argument,

not to name call,

not for debate.

And, if at some point,

I am proven wrong,

I will be the first

to admit it.

Mother's Day Message to My Mum

Mother’s Day 2020

A Message to My Mum

Good Morning, Mum,

I love you

I miss you

What I wouldn’t give

to put my head

on your shoulder

for you

to put your head

on mine

What I wouldn’t give

to touch your face

hear your voice

see you smile

What I wouldn’t give

to hold your hand

stroke your hair

hug you

How nice it would be

to play one last game

tend the flowers together

take a ride

go shopping

visit scenic places we loved

I miss you, Mum

I love you

and remember how

you loved me.

‘Til we meet again,

my most wonderful Mum,

I will hold you forever

in my heart and memories.

Transforming the Dawn

Dancing in the predawn grays

eastern sky awakened

in a blaze of pinks and purples

after a night of rain

As if she herself

was calling the dawn

by her dancing;

everything melted away

There was only

this moment,

only these seconds

before dawn burst forth

Feet moved lightly

leaving glistening footprints

in dew covered grass

Fingertips stretched upwards

against the sky  

for a brief pause

Before the dance brought

feather-light hands

arcing slowly downward

momentum carrying her forward

Pinks and purples faded

as shades of orange hues

streaked unhindered

across the heavens

Moved by Divine grace

dark faded to light

and a brilliant orb

crested the horizon

She continued to dance

to a tune only she could hear

floating across the meadow

as if on the clouds themselves

A last twirl, movement ceased

in stillness, she waited

face raised to the dawning

silence engulfed her

A cresting of the horizon

and wave upon wave

of wondrous, glorious brilliance

filled her soul.