Wednesday, 12 January 2011

finding inspiration

i haven't really made an awful lot of noise about the couple of other blogs that i either have on the go or am involved in, the first is still a little bit of a work in progress, while the second is more personal, although both are in plain sight for all to view if they know where to look

but lets shed a little more light on the second one shall we? the more personal one.

it is something of a digital trinket box perhaps, online, that me and my brother (and hopefully sometime soon, my dad) can all contribute to...

as all three of us are afflicted with the curse of spending time thinking and not spending enough time doing, i thought that it could be used as a prompt to spur us each into action, attempting to find or create something, anything, each day and share it

from my own perspective, i know that i often write either poetry or features, or sometimes have photos that i want to post, but i find that the timing is not write, not wanting to bump something else off of sitting at the top of my blog if i feel it needs to hang around a little longer to garner more attention, and ultimately not wanting the kind of blog that moves so fast that within a few days of being away so much could have been missed, it is these strange invisible limitations and restrictions that i wanted to free myself from...

and lo and behold, has it been an interesting experiment so far! i'll readily admit that some days i have had to purposefully look for my latest contribution, but more recently ideas have flown more freely, not only that, but the latest photo added by my brother (along with the few others posted on his own blog) were actually the catalyst for my latest poem, inspired by the desolate and intrigueing images of discarded memories and dumped furniture

(and yes, you are stepping on my toes slightly, but i'll forgive you.... this time)

the day we found grandad had been flytipped

it was just under the flyover that we found him

upturned and half-out of his usual chair
along with a handful of belongings
and photos that had addorned walls

he looked dazed, confused by it all
the poor old sod
with remote control in hand and a furrowed brow

eyes fixed on the same telly that had seen him through the past fifteen years
now smashed and propped upon a pile of breezeblocks

and he greeted us with very little fanfare

merely stating that the reception for channel five was the worst it had ever been

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