Morning begins with delight and hope: I am here, aware and ready.
I write with a woman's eye to find what lies between thought and action.
I struggle with form and content, to be surprised by grace and beauty.
With each breath, I am attentive and forgetful in equal measure.
What I found from writing these deceptively simple sentences that take us down to the essence of an idea is that I am a conditional thinker. My writing begins with phrases like -- if, because, since, although. And that I find it difficult to confront reality head on. Is this because I am a woman? That I think slant? Sometimes my statements do rise at the end, with that questioning inflection that asks: Is this all right?
But notice how the sharp images of poetry have vanished. That which connects to the five senses is simply not present. So perhaps:
My fingers ache with desire to put words down that connect heart and mind.
I find quotes here and there and keep them at the front of my daily writing diary for inspiration.
Imagine my surprise when I counted syllables to find that this month's quote falls under the category of Jack Kerouac's American Sentence Poem -- 17 syllables.
'The purpose of art is washing the dust of daily life off our souls.' --Pablo Picasso
I still know only one Picasso, one art, one daily life, one soul.
Picasso: Boy with a pipe (Wikipedia)
Of course, we can romanticize Picasso, and I do. But he lived a complex life, had many affairs, and wrote poetry, often as ribald as he was. His art and his poetry describe a man with large appetities and an equal amount of rage.
Read more of Picasso's poetry at Wikipedia.
Read what others have written for this poetry prompt at Octpowrimo.