Something to Write About: A New "Flash" Poem

Something to Write About

We went out walking yesterday,

My dog and I alone.

My wife declined to go with us

For reasons of her own.

I checked the temp on the front porch,

Read thirty-three degrees.

I put my hat and sweatshirt on

And thought I would not freeze.

I drove the truck out to the park

And stopped down near the bridge.

The wind lay still here near the creek,

But whistled on the ridge.

We walked the road facing the sun,

The north wind at our backs,

Yet I could hear tree limbs above

Shaking with brittle clacks.

We turned onto the walking trail

That circles round the pond.

Luna, my dog, shot me a look,

But I did not respond.

The little lake wrinkled with waves

That splashed onto the shore.

Luna stared back at the warm truck

As if she might implore.

But we trudged on into the shade

Of thick swaying pine trees.

I pulled my hands up in my sleeves

So cutting was the breeze.

Our heading was toward the south,

But soon, through twist and turns,

The bright sun was behind our backs

Warming only our sterns.

The north wind sure bullied us now.

It pinched our freezing ears.

It squished snot from our ice noses

And drowned our eyes in tears.

I looked at all the sun-filled day,

The pond glistered like chrome,

But Luna shivered as I shook.

I said, “I’ll race you home.”

We took a shortcut by the creek

And moved out in the sun.

I saw a scenic photo op.

I said, “I’ll take just one.”

Back in the truck, I checked it out.

I think it’s one I’ll keep.

As we warmed in the cozy cab,

I could have gone to sleep,

But Luna nudged me with her nose,

Saying, “It’s time to go

Back to my soft and comfy bed

Where north winds do not blow.”

I agreed and chauffeured us home

And as we both got out,

I knew this day had given me

Something to write about.

If you are an artist of any sort from quilting to sculpting or from baking bread to composing music, you know that inspiration is a gift that seems as often withheld as offered. You may have noticed that I have not written in a while and what I have posted recently in the snapshots is merely revisions of bits and pieces of old works that I have not been able to revive. Inspiration has simply not been there. It is not coming. Sometimes, I can feed on the power of reviewing and revising as inspiration to create new, but that is not working either. I started revising Uncle Boog and the Dogfight. It is still a damned good story, but I simply cannot get into revising it nor anything else. No inspiration is to be had!

So, I was walking with my dog Luna yesterday, and I thought, "I have got to get something out of this day to write about. I will write anything, even if it does not feel inspired." Before I had gotten halfway on the trail around the pond, I decided that I would write a poem about taking this walk. I knew quickly that it would be sing-song because I was not in a serious mood. I had in my mind that I would embellish the cold just a little bit. I did honestly get a bit of the bleary-eye and snotty nose, but Luna was never cold that I could tell. I did not take the picture yesterday that is posted with the poem. I took it the day before. However, it really was thirty-three degrees when we left the house. It really was windy, and considerably more windy when we got to the park than I had thought it was. To be truthful, by the time I was back in the truck yesterday, I had most of this poem in my head--almost all the words. I simply had to find the time to write them down.

Now, I am curious, gentle readers, what you think. Is forcing yourself into an attempt at an artistic project inspiration? Whether anyone finds the verse that I have written particularly elevated or not, it is crafted in the form of an art. If it doesn't rise to art, is it practice? Does practice need to be inspired? I only ask because I do not know.

I have a little bit of time off from work, so I hope that I can become full-fledged, unquestionably inspired to create something artistic. I am pretty sure that it is not going to be in the relative tediousness of reviewing and revising my other works no matter how badly they need the retooling. My mind longs for something new. Maybe, you can help me. I still pledge to take requests from my readers. Please remember the theme of my next book of poetry (?!?) is nature, and I am trying to keep the poems short and songlike, but please, please shoot me some ideas of what I might write about. And--as always--ENJOY!