Up-to-date (only 49 minutes late!)-Haiku

Blog Structure

When I set out to create art, I usually follow my instincts when I decide what kind of art to create. By that I mean I consider various possibilities until I find one that doesn't disgust me. Artists, you might know what I mean. Some nights the sketchbook is your best friend, other times you can't even stand to look at it. I was looking at the blog my brother and I used to do, called Fight the Nothing, and I was inspired to make a change here in my writing journal. I need two things, structure and diversity. I have always been principally a visual artist, and I would like to improve my skills on that field as well. Also, as I said above, sometimes I just don't want to write, at least not on the blog. Therefore, I will now be including visual art in my notebook, just as it has been in every class I've ever attended. I think I require some structure to create good art, or at least to start on the path towards it. I know myself to be somewhat defiant, and I love to twist ...

Practice.

Artist! Writer! Practice your skills. Read something, pen something, sketch something still. Swiftly unraveled, Long work to re-bind, The tenuous strands 'tween thumb, fingers and mind. Let not the dreams slip, Through unclenching hands. Guide them, direct them. Make patterns of sand. Pay no mind to mistakes, They belong, let them be. They're trees in the forest you're trying to see. Make ready your keyboard, Sketch paper and ink, You're readier now than you may ever think.

Front Porch Ramble #5

The old man who lived across the street sometimes glared at Jeremy while he sat smoking, his lawn waiting very patiently for a trim. In the 8 years he had lived here, he had never learned the man's name. So long after moving to the neighborhood it would have been awkward to seek introductions. Jeremy thought of him as a man with nothing else to do but dedicate himself to a nicely tended lawn and well maintained landscaping. This was in part due to the spotless emerald carpet that left no doubts as to property lines, but also due to the 8 plastic cans in varying hues that appeared on the curb every Monday morning on yard waste day. Without fail, Jeremy had never seen less than 3 bins out week after week. He sometimes wondered if the old man was slowly digging out an in ground pool in the backyard, or perhaps something more nefarious. No, there was the old woman, poking her head out to check on his progress. This was real life after all, n...

Front Porch Rambles

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