things you grow or
pick in the woods or just buy
cheap and good at farmers market washed
fresh in august perfection crimson
salty onions sharp
handled carrots and cunning
That's the beginning of a poem I wrote on Thursday night when I was feeling overwhelmed with sadness and frustration. I get that way only a few times a year, being a mostly optimistic person, talented at finding the bright side of just about anything. On Thursday I felt as blue as a moldy potato and grumpy as a speed bump. Grandma dying, the kids bickering, my husband having a stressful time at work and the pressures of the school year schedule looming made me want to sit in a corner and cry. Instead I sat down and wrote. It's turning out to be quite a cool poem, now a page and a half long, and needing much revision. The initial impulse and the sound-feeling came from the desperate, depressed, sorry for myself mood of that evening. I'm glad that misery is not my usual muse, but once in a while, it works just fine.
Question for the day: Are you creative when you feel sad?
mompoet - squeezing the dregs of a tortured soul moment