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“Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”— Henry David Thoreau
What does it mean to inspire? To be inspired?
It seems to me the creative process is equal parts perspiration and inspiration.
I asked a poet friend about her Muse. How does one find one's Muse? What is it exactly?
She said "It's just who you are".
I guess that narrows it down a bit.
I am a naturalist, I find inspiration in nature.
I am also extremely sensitive, as if I have no filters, so whatever touches me, touches me deeply. Sometimes this makes good poetry, other times not so much.
It is easy to become over-loaded with too much information and to lose focus. For me poetry is all about focus, about clarity, and about truthfulness.
"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."— Henry David Thoreau
I find the owl on the lawn
along the shady edge of the drive
where the crows lay down
after a bath
with their wings outstretched
and their breasts flattened
to the ground
to absorb the coolness.
Looking like a fleet of small black
aeroplanes landed there in unison.
I find the owl laying in a tiny heap on the grass,
unruffled, face up, eyes open,
No heartbeat when I pick it up.
I carry him back to the garden where I am working,
and place his tiny corpse deep in the shade
under an old gnarled Rhododendron shrub.
That was two summers ago.
This summer, so hot! While stretching out a soaker hose under the old Rhodo
I found the owl's bones, clean, white, and undisturbed.
I collected these remains (I don't know why)
They weighed almost nothing,
but I could feel some kind of energy
from them when I held them in my hand.
The Owl notes August 16 2014
The Owl finding,
The Crows shade bathing,
the bird bath,
stories about miracles,
Today is cooler
than it's been
in the past
couple of months.
Last night was
moon and stars,
a chill in the air,
every little thing.
A deep fear
of losing face.
a writer friend
passes me the
to inspire me
to inspire you...
I catch it
it is light.
It is light
of a small
What to do
I hold it
I feel the lightness
and the balance.
I feel the flight.
There is a sense
© 2014 Verlie Burroughs