7 Mar 2013

Being Creative

I am am a highly creative person, both writer and artist, and I have come to the conclusion that my brain works in a different way from those who are very logical thinkers. In a way it's a bit like being able to dream when one is awake, and I think it may result from both halves of the brain firing up together.

This morning I was lying on the bed talking on the phone to a friend who is also highly creative and I noticed this figure in the pattern on the ceiling wallpaper. We had a long entertaining conversation about it, and she is possibly going to incorporate the idea into one of her books if I don't beat her to it. This is what we came up with, just by me describing the figure to her over the phone:

The tall figure is a man-unicorn, or manicorn, (or is it a werecorn?),which sounds very phallic and Freudian. He was once a normal man, but has been stuck that way since the 18th century (he is wearing breeches you see). He was walking along minding his own business when a bad fairy jumped on his back and has ridden him ever since. You can tell it is a bad fairy by the skull like face and the creepy little bell on its hood. It has saddled the man with a weird saddle rather like a throne with runners, on which it can fly through the sky or slide along ice. I don't think the man's shoes were quite so pointed until he became part of the fairy kingdom. So there!

5 Mar 2013

Yggdrasil




This is how I learn to disappear;
hidden in the burnt hollow of the ash,
time drifting slowly as the stars.

Above me presses the weight
of ancient wood; outside my door
rain drips on the leaves and the wren
curses in the undergrowth, eye
sharp as winter, throat full of stories.

Woven in crevices of bark,
tall wood spirits wait;
spinning thin fingers through my hair.
My arms become dry twigs,
stretched to the vault of sky.

Breathing the pulse of moss and rot,
I grow roots that sink
deep to the jaws of Dreadbiter;
feeling the chill of shaman's death,
no longer a human child.