I’m staring at a blank field. At the very top of this vertical journey is a jagged blue ladder creeping
down.
_____Drip.
_________Drip.
_____________Drip.
Raindrops of inspiration splash across my face. Cold and
thrilling.
Across
from the right.
Inspiration falls from the
right.
That’s why they call it
right brain.
.
I see mountains of white—stacks of paper billowing and protruding,
puffing up like the ground is taking a deep
chest inhale.
And
The mounds rise with creakiness and
the boom and sharp whistle and
drizzle of
a thousand piles and pages slide and
collapse as the
giant awakens.
Wait!
I haven’t finished the first page!
.
When I step on the bottom, I sag against the ladder. Two
bowls of porridge are waiting for me. Steaming
with a sickly nutmeg scent. I
grip the spoon and
take a taste. Lumps of victory
mixed with salt exhaustion.
Exhaustion—
it is an extra flavor.
.
I devour it all.
Lick
the paste clean.
Stagger
to my feet and
flip the page.
.
Chapter 2.
About the Creator
J. Jay
I like to share my art and writings, whether it's silly or serious. I'll also feature a comic I work on called Writing Whoas, which is about the joys and hardships of being a writer. Stick around to laugh or cry.
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Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
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Writing reflected the title & theme
A Flower Song
Apparently the Aztecs, Toltecs, Chichimecs and other Mexica were crazy about poetry. Despite the book-burning, slaughter, and epidemics that characterized the early stages of the Spanish conquest of the empires of Mexico, some hundreds of poems from the height of their tradition come down to us in Classical Nahuatl, preserved by Nahua and Spanish scholars of the 16th century. One of the most famous poets, Nezahualcoyotl, was a sage-king who opposed the cult of human sacrifice associated with Tezcatlipoca, God of the Smoking Mirror, and favored Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent. Flowers and feathers were the favorite offering of the Plumed Serpent. Moreover, flowers and feathers are a metaphor for poetry. Individual words, scattered petals, the down of tropical birds. The temples of blood sacrifice could be transformed into temples of flower and song. A sublimated offering to the Heart of Earth and the Heart of Sky encapsulated in the Classical Nahuatl kenning for poetry: in xōchitl in cuīcatl, meaning, "the flower and the song." The following poem is part of a longer work, and is in a state of flux, so take the waters as they flow:
By Rob Angeli3 days ago in Poets
Comments (2)
Oh wow, this is so great! I love that drifting away into imagination, then realizing you never finished a foundational thought, having to trudge back to it. And yes, the exhaustion is real. But im glad the reward was so nourishing!
This is so fresh, it’s innovative in its structure (which I love) and the message. Really well done. I’m looking forward to Chapter 2.