Today, Writing from the Third Phase (in other words, me flexing my creative muscles) moves from the sidelines  to become an occasional post. I admit I’m a little nervous about this. It’s one thing to write posts about a topic you have studied for five years, it’s quite another to openly, brazenly put your creative stuff out there for everyone to see.

Then again, millions of people do it everyday, so here goes …

She was reading and trying to write a poem, although not at the same time. She read several pages and then the poem called to her. She put the novel down, wrote five or six lines and crossed them out. She made a cup of ginger tea and picked up the novel but the poem called again. And so it would go.

She pretended she didn’t miss him, that she was okay alone. Then she allowed herself to miss him at the same time as she appreciated the solitude. Alone, she could think about them. About him. He was pale sunlight shining through a canopy of trees, leaving a medal of radiance on the soft forest floor. She was a rock, locked into the earth, warmed briefly by the rondures of light.

She thought about poetry, what it was and what it could do. He and she, together,  were vers libre; her previous poems were pedestrian and clichéd. She wanted a poem that was the wind shifting the canopy. She wrote for a long while, shook her head several times and returned to her novel.

One of my friends suggested I try writing prose poems, a genre along with Flash Fiction, that I believe is a good choice for a blog post.  Then again, I don’t want to limit myself. I want to put my writing out into the world and read any comments you might want to make.

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