The poetry of a single mark.


A while back after attending a worshop to ‘explore’ my creative expression, I wrote this piece:

Then soon after that, I wrote the piece below of . . . ahh . . . umm . . . poetry?  If you can call it that?  I dont really like poetry, just because sometimes I find it too abstract, too cryptic for me to understand.  In those times, I just want to say: “Say what you mean, rather than speaking in riddles.” And yet all too frequently I find myself with words, sentences, and rhymes in my head, nagging at my thoughts, like they’re longing to be expressed.  So hopefully, I’m not writing riddles myself.  Because while I dont always know how to articulate the words, sentences and rhymes in my thoughts, I have come to conclude that maybe that’s all part of the process.  So here it is:

The stroke of a brush.
The drag of a twig.

Go ahead just make a start.
The imitation of life is art!

Pick up a tool in your hand.
Do not conform to any one brand.

Free colour it as you choose.
With what is available to use.

Like dragging twigs and brush strokes.
Not all marks turn out like your hopes.

By accepting, then adding.
Ever expanding and creating.

Nothing perfect, but ’tis ink
It’s you, and it has your finger print.

What finger print are you leaving on the canvas that is your life?

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