My morning pages intrigued me today. They started with word portraits of my parents before moving into inquiry of my own parenting and then an angry jaunt into resistance before settling into my new-found joy in Fibonacci.
Poetry does that for me, centers and grounds me.
Here is what I wrote:
Fib #8
I
Stop
Wonder
What is it
That raises my heart
Each time I consider your heart?
Fib #9
It
Leaves
Scratches
On the Page
My precious pencil
Partner in art, part of my soul
Fib #10
Please
Dont
Be Loud
So early
In my morning time
I need restorative quiet
Fib #11
Dogs!
Please!
Dont bark..
Its too late
Go back to sleep now.
Morning art time, interrupted
= = = = =
Buttercup caught sight of something in our front yard that set her off and she barked like wild after it, which woke up Sam and made Emma mad and stopped my flow. But I was past my three pages and I was still hoping to get some work done before my official, parenting-Saturday-workday began.
I am laughing I am even polite in my poetry. I need to fib that.
Fib #12
Please!
Please!
I said
Ummmmmm, Presto?
Make the magic sound
Instantly everyone listens?
Foolish fantasy mine so I plunder my last words
= = = = =
I took an extra line, like I did in my Cleansed Fib wait, I need to fib that, too.
Fib #13
Fib
Form
Gives Me
Liberty
To scribe extra words
I empty myself in More Space
= = = = =
Ok, I am done. Sam is resting his head on my shoulder. He just read his name and is excited. My coffee mug is nearly empty. It is almost 8 am on Saturday.
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