“Where You Write” is just as important as what you write and to whom, but must we always share?
Perhaps, perhaps; yet there are some words only meant for the crisp, clean page that holds the coveted position in a comfortable room, only for you–Dear Diary; Dear Journal, “Hi, there!”
My eyes drift shut for just a moment; dawn has not yet arrived…
I inhale all my other senses in a deep breath–a taste of energy in total silence, a hint of chill, the heady smell of fresh shellac, easily survived…
The scent of raw, lightly treated wood beams, an arched ceiling, floors with a dab of shiny gloss, immaculate…
It calms my mind and thrills my spirit because I know I can write anything here or even write nothing at all, but the dilemma … to share or retract?
Is everything set up in order on the familiar desk? Yes…
Do I lift the proverbial quill or pen, tap softly on muted keys or simply rest?
But where will the story go if I don’t rush, rush, rush to complete the piece?
Will another writer jot down these stories and give it release?
To spread the full wings of creativity
Where stories are possible; the paranormal in true believability…
To dwell for a brief moment in a time continuum…
Deep poignant thoughts are challenged or read in awe or disgust, hardly humdrum…
If I can see, feel, visualize, live so very much in my own mind
Is it my duty to share my words with all humankind?
A conundrum, ta’ be sure, giving and receiving inspiration
Through rigorous thought, tears, laughter, perspiration…
But do I dare? My Journal, a constant companion; My Diary, dear old friend…
Will people understand my thoughts and or even care in the end?
by Deborah A Bowman
What if? Will the flowers bloom again after the Apocalypse? A small piece of descriptive, deep imagery. We humans need to heed the warnings and save our earth. My two cents … bowmanauthor/bowmaneditor.
Check out the incredible writings by William Johnson, https://storiesoffantasy.com
The world was cracking apart, and breaking into two. It felt as if lighting came dashing over this world, and a shining light filled our eye site. The human kind were born to make this world better not to cause destruction. Ashes all round the place, the fire blazing and the screams of the people echoing back every time i take a step forward. The people deeply buried under the buildings and the fire is taking over us to handle this Earth better. But nobody knows what may happen to this world. What will happen after the humans are wiped out from this earth. What? Something humongous just raised out from the land like it is the almighty god and has always been there for us. The flowers blossomed again, the trees cherished. Beauty was rising from the ashes.
A computer will never take the place of a human wordsmith/editor. Robots and artificial intelligence cannot duplicate the true emotion that lives in the connotative nuances of words. Only the heart and soul can breathe life into black-and-white ink splotches on a crumbled page which will become art, drama, perception, persuasion, and pre-cognition. It is our history, our current timeline, and our future. The human brain and Universal mind produces words that sing, inform, rejoice, or weep; sometimes, most often heard in the silent pauses between descriptive utterances of voice and breath.
Hence, the philosophy of one lone humble poet and writer, “bowmanauthor/bowmaneditor”.
Okay, life is tough
Complicated, complex, rough
It’s supposed to be
How can we see
Where we lost our way
Unless we find out where we went wrong?
Here’s to finding life’s path; be strong!
Deborah A. Bowman
Snow nestled in silent hills
Silence in the frozen chill
Awake to the dawn of a wonderland
Beneath a sky painted by nature’s hand
Your whispered breath on the window pane
Mist of tears in your eyes gain
Momentum, then fall in heaves and sighs
You want to share the heightened emotion
But all that you see is your own devotion
He would have loved the snow
For he had no where to go
Now he dwells at heaven’s door
Asking nothing, feeling the cold no more
Deborah A. Bowman
Open the page
Let in the light
Let yourself gaze
At all that is bright
The wisdom within
The happiness it brings
All the places we have been
Fit for Queens and Kings
A book is magic
On every page
Harmony and wit
Divine, wondrous, sage…
Deborah A. Bowman, bowmanauthor
Gone are the days of history…
by Deborah A. Bowman
Gone are the days of yesteryear.
Gone are smiles, miles, tears and fears.
We of the present can learn from history.
Those of the future will fulfill our destiny.
The past comes alive as sins and wins are repeated.
Triumphs are heralded; Foes are defeated.
If only we could stop the challenges.
If only we could heighten the balances.
It makes me wonder as I ponder,
If all on earth have wandered
These paths before in yesteryear
And have returned with our hopes and fears.
History repeats itself,
But we remain ourselves
Through thick and thin, but in different skins.
Reacting the same way as we begin
Lifetimes in new bodies, when we are given
A chance to redeem our numerous sins
Or spread truth and love, strong and sage,
As we enter life in a future age.
Will I live again
Or is this the end?
What’s inside and what’s ouside?
Sure makes for a tumultuous ride!
What is up and what is down?
As you’re spinning all around
Looking inside yourself through a surreal bubble
Are you okay? Are you in real trouble?
Or have you split in two?
I think the dilemma is that you don’t know who…
You are … when you face yourself enclosed
In the psyche of another, the other
As the bubble grows…
Grief is like a rose
Be warned of the thorns