Home in the Storm

Every time I sit in front of a computer to do work for grad school, I end up writing my thoughts instead. I start off working diligently, only to find that as the hours pass I am typing away in a different Word document or have somehow wandered into my blog(s) or other venues. It really is like a calling. Writing, that is.

I see myself more clearly on paper than I ever do in the mirror.

I express myself best by clicking of my fingertips on a keyboard or scratching a pen against a piece of paper. It's as if something makes sense and I'm at home.


I once wrote a little something in the blink of an eye - and I called it Home in the Storm:

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My brain is working overtime; it’s constantly in rhyme—in motion. I wait, but have the notion I am giving up on vision, precision, if I hold out. I doubt that I can stop the workings of my brain, even if I strain, for all at once the words are there—pushing through with force and care. I stop, I wait—they flood the gate—those words that press into my soul and reaching for the pen again, I’ve given up control. Within me poetry takes form, like a potent storm—and then takes flight, like a rapid kite. I’m there, but where?—Inside this dream, this trance, this storm, as lines take form, I’m free and clearly I can see that they have taken hold of me. I contemplate, I wait…with chills and thrills anticipate…and then, I’m back--------I’m home, in front of me a poem.

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That was 4 years ago exactly. I can't believe how well it describes the way I feel about writing...the way I feel about what goes on inside of myself.