"Sing, Heavenly Muse, that on the secret top

Of Oreb or of Sinai didst inspire

That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed

In the beginning how the how the heavens and earth

rose out of Chaos; or, if Sion hill

delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed

fast by the oracle of God, I thence

Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song"

-Paradise Lost, Book 1 Lines 6-13

So my first try at blogging; I've never been much of a journal-writer, I haven't got the consistency. I've also never been really good at public writing, I haven't got the confidence. However, I need a place to put inspired things and the notebook on my top shelf just doesn't seem enough. There will be no theme, therefore. Just inspired things, things I wrote or things I liked or things that made me think. I have no gift of my own, but I've been gifted with an appreciation for the writings of the giants that went before me, so I intend to exercise that here.

Tonight I went to a reading by Yusef Komunyakaa, a Pulitzer Prize winning poet who has been hailed as "arguably the most important and accomplished living African-American writer" (Ed Pavlic, Director of Creative Writing, University of Georgia.) He writes very accessible, raw sorts of things, always colored by a well-developed, consistent tone. He is also highly influenced- I think- by his experiences in Vietnam. His voice, also, reminded me of James Earl Jones (listen here!)

Upon coming home I, inspired, tried my hand at a verse or three. I'll record the results here, but hold me to no standards. I have no misconceived vision of myself as a poet.

I am young.

Supple.

Lithe.

The picture I paint is of a girlish woman,

slender, snapping willowy

crowned with golden mane untamed

eyes- windows to a stormy soul

passion tempered with frail humanity.

I will make the most of my youth.

Fearless.

Vibrant.

There is no fear in love

There will be no fear in me.

He will ask, there is no answer in me but Yes.

The sun will be my muse, He my glorious audience.

I'll perform my youth for my Lover.

I will not be young forever.

Morphing.

Altering.

The colors will never be this shade again.

Chord structures that compose me will change and

this melody will never be heard again.

My summer will drift into my fall,

it will never drift back again.