By Francis Scudellari
A haphazard sower
By trade, I am
Fore years (re)-collecting
With greedy hands--
Stretched, (im)-pulsed receptors--
Capriciously
Clasping seeds, on breeze borne;
So many missed
Trying, yet repeated
O'er time, enough
Caught, details in-word writ,
Samples heart-pressed
Out of e'er, safely kept
Abiding till
Filled to bursting, I reach
Within, shuffle
My minded book, unbind
These chance-chosen
Pages random pick, pluck;
Whimsy torn to(o)
Abstract bits, casting off
On trusted wind
Scatter-shot confetti
Swirled widely
Where crushed in fertile soil
By seasoned wheels,
Each turn around cracking
Dormant-laid husks,
Then-kernels take root, grow
Plentiful, push
Through crumbled surfaces
Our gathering
Future-fed harvest, just
Now imagined,
My fragmented self, whole
Again, (re)-born
4 comments:
Love it. To me it speaks of creativity reborn and boundless. Well done. Some of the words you used (two I think) may be the same but the context was uniquely your own. Love your style Francis. It is uniquely yours. Woe and behold if I see anyone trying to emulate them in other blogs. Send me an email with ideas for the MW Society. I have started working on a MW blog. It is only in the infant stage. Take care.
~JD
Thanks JD. It might be tough for someone to imitate my style as I don't know that they'd be able to think in the same twisted way :). Of course they could out right copy stuff, and I know that goes on. I will definitely be in touch about MWS.
The poem goes along way in explaining the art.
Such that I understand am I also twisted?
Hi Cooper,
You're only twisted in the most positive sense ... thinking in non-conventional ways ... making an effort to see the world from a different perspective ... at odds with mainstream opinion, which would normally be twisted but through today's looking glass is considered straight.
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