Here’s an exercise which I call Jumping into the Mud although it’s sometimes called by the more prosaic name automatic writing. The exercise helps to loosen my imagination, and sometimes a decent poem results as well.
The bra I took off at 4:45 through the sleeve of my dress
and put down somewhere I find on my grandmother’s hutch
in the kitchen, incongruous, surrounded by jars of jam
This post marks the beginning of a new irregular feature in Vox Populi. I hope readers of Vox Populi, many of whom are writers, will find the prompt helpful in stimulating their creativity.
Read what I wrote yesterday — hate it. Read what Sam wrote yesterday — love it. Hate Sam. Think about 45-year friendship with Sam. Remember him stealing my girlfriend in college. No, wait that was me — I married her….
You think of Sigmund Freud. You have a little bust of him on your desk, one you bought at the Freud home when you and your wife were in Vienna. … Continue reading
. Then, I know how to speak with a single voice, meandering onward, not clear whether anyone is listening, pushing on to the next word and the next, not with … Continue reading