NaPoWriMo #6 - When I grow up

I will grow my air into lilac buds
the sickness of lilies.

The milkman will leave empty bottles at my door
for me to curdle into vases.

I will sing psalms on Sundays to the age spots of my palms.

I will not drink pure white chardonnay like my mother
but swill lime juice between my teeth
and spit.

The crack of moths run floorboards
become hymn whispers.

God will crowd my thoughts with wolf like stalk

I will fish out the familiarity of his lies
and sing psalms to the age spots of my palms on Sundays.

Memories will crowd at the edges of an iron
I will have reached the age of permanent mists
lie grateful.

I will climb barefoot summit
watch where the red rivers run merge
sigh a 77 year migraine ache
knowing how I have made more moons rise than you saw.

I will watch on Friday
wring my wrist with lilies
die on a Saturday
and sing psalms to the age spots of my palms on Sundays

Where the Words Went

I'm very privileged to have people who notice.
It reminds me to keep posting, to keep writing and keep pressing onwards.

Creativity like any other beast of existing comes in waves. There are times where I am boiling over with productivity, quick firing emails to anyone how will listen, touring open mics and generally making a bit of a nuisance of myself.
There are times that this seems an impossible task.

As some people have noticed my blog was dormant from July last year - I was still performing, my twitter was still active but those small characters were about all I could manage. I stopped reading, reviewing and at times thinking.

See, last July my Nanny passed away - it wasn't unexpected but it still came too soon, it was quick and slow all at once. She was the spark of my childhood, my imagination and the woman who could listen to me prattle on about new poetry, plays, music, books endlessly. She was a lady with Lavender in her hair and love on her fingertips.

When she passed, I was adamant that I would immortalise her in a long spoken word show - I still will, but I allowed the need to explain myself to consume my grief and my creativity didn't respond. It felt like I couldn't do her justice.

Now, I feel ready to get back into the heart of it all. I am writing again and performing with a zeal I haven't felt in months - that is all thanks to the wonderful support of readers, friends, performers and fellow creative. You are all wonderful and you have brought me back gently to the folds of your wisdom and sharing.

So, what better time to spark this blog back into action than NaPoWriMo!

Speak soon,
Natasha x