Breezes of Being

"A poem is never finished, only abandoned."

__Paul Valery
French critic & poet (1871 - 1945)

The creative process is virtually unfathonable.

Most works are mere fragments of the process and the resources involved, though most original manuscrips illustrate that process as it continues.

The invention of mechanical reproduction and greater distribution possibilities allowed for (more and less) shifts in printed form beyond the original manuscripts. I've only more recently been converting my lifetime of poetry writing from original manuscrips to print. Difference is clear.

It's been revealing to me. Many facets of the originals simply change by virtue of the printed appearance and possible arrangements in print. Things are discovered when typing and seeing in print, which one may see fit to change, though I almost never chose to type mine over the years. I seldom changed a poem, once recorded. I preferred to write a new poem if another idea emerged rather than change an existing one. I continue to write first in handwritten manuscript form, dated, private and sometimes revised and dynamically evolving - before abandoning it to the breezes.

My muse, E.D. would understand the process. She just kept hers private for the most part during her lifetime, rather than submit it to the rest of the process out of her own hands.

Perhaps she undertood that the transformation of the sharing with the steps in being published would diminish or remove its awe and bafflement, ongoing otherwise.

It's become easier to revise with word processing's means of cutting, copying, pasting and other various aids. This age of instant technologically aided display and mass random distribution further changes, perhaps distorts, the creative process which might otherwise continue to evolve each poem or to be replaced or simply remain as written.

So what about the heart, mind and soul - the whole creative process of originating poetry?

I cannot know whether the breeze of my being is friendly or whether it merely snatches at inspiration, as perhaps now in these current poems penned in my journal but now shared/published below.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

2-7-12

Fantasies

Materialize

When you appear.

Our eyes entwine.

We perceive

Our meanings, clear,

A future, near,

Real and vigilant.

How comforting, being free!

Please don't disappear.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

2-6-12

Trying will not bring love.

It visits of its own accord,

Abundantly - or not.

It stays where cherished.

Where forced or trapped

It leaves with the breeze.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

2-6-12

Shivering

I think of him,

Both elated and concerned.

His shimmering aura permeates,

Pervades my space,

His face, my dream.

I seem

More myself

When he is near.

It happens spontaneously

More often now.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

2-6-12

Blazing pages

Confront my heart, my soul, my heart,

Telling all.

Seems now gone,

Consumed, spent?

Pernaps for now, - but then

My sun subsides at dusk,

Invisible to my hemisphere,

Then comes again at dawn,

All new and clear,

The light - still bright,

My soul still near,

Recalling I am here,

Visibly alive, unbent.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

2-6-12

Why not now? I ask the ether.

If not now, when, - how?

No answers.

I search the stars,

Observe constellations,

Beseech the breeze

For the clue.

Silence is the reply.

I question you

For what you know,

My fiery orb,

My Sol

Aha. - So, -

My soul!

.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

2-6-12

Shivering,

Slithering

Nameless dread

Chimes and lingers

In my head

At night.

It tempers, dims the light of day.

It simpers like a child in play

With wild imagining.

It modifies my joy, instead

Of knowing all is right.

And then comes dawn again.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

2-6-12

Make a bower

Overhead,

A nest, a place for rest and stay,

A loft atop a tower

Above

The frantic panic,

Oblivion of

The throng below.

A place to think,

To feel,

To sense,

To know,

To love,

To be

Most freely, clearly,

To be content.

______© Nellieanna H. Hay

2-6-12

This hub was in process and nearing completion prior to a comment elsewhere from dallas93444 regarding my creative processes. It wasn't written in response to that, but in a way, it is an unplanned kind of response to it. Perhaps he was on my wave-length in his uncanny perceptive comment!

However it was, thank you, Dallas!