finding that space


when poetry shouts
& drips from fingertips
when images push into position

that room of one’s own
becomes any space
with paper & ink
or keyboard & screen

voice flowing
from brain to page
faster than bleeding
written standing up
at a bus stop
words blurred by rain
or scrawled on a napkin
with coffee stain edges

those seconds
of possession & creation
do not need silence
& will not tolerate

but seeded images
need time to germinate
planted deep in the mind

bud & unfurl in a place
for coaxing slow growth
free of demanding cats
squabbling children
& cartoon voices

where is that closed door
that sacred space

that room
without a door
that only I

can enter

& how
do I find it?


***right now, that room of my own exists only in my living room, between 2:00-4:00 in the morning.  There MUST be a better way…

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25 thoughts on “finding that space

  1. superb susan as i can remember them kind of days as well as to trying to have that moment where it’s just me and the words. your piece could have been one of mine:)

  2. artistic creation as responding to an urge, a surge, demiurge and purge – with its character and sense of timing, often inconvenient!
    You describe it so well, Susan.

  3. creative writing is just so liberating that I don’t know anything that could come close to it and you have captured so well that desire and angst I feel toward writing.

  4. Rhonda

    that room lives IN YOU…always has, always will. the door is even open when you are sleeping. sometimes you want to close the window to keep out noise..but you really don’t have to. the noise in your head is louder, more important to get that out to make room for all the others that are in there waiting in the ante room!

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