Saturday, November 26, 2011


This post sat in draft form in a dusty corner of my blog.  I just pulled it out of hiding, gave it a quick dusting and so , here 'tis

It occurs to me that posting quotes about creativity is kind of hollow without a statement of my own thoughts and musings about the subject.I once read a statement from some unknown author that said,"Creativity is one of the means by which humans liberate themselves from the fetters, not only of their conditioned responses, but also from their usual choices.  However, creativity is not simply originality and unlimited freedom.  There is much more to it than that.  It also imposes restrictions.  While it uses methods other than those of ordinary thinking, it must not be in disagreement with ordinary thinking - or rather it must be something that sooner or later ordinary thinking will understand , accept and appreciate.  Otherwise the results will be bizarre, not creative."

All of that got me thinking, so I added my own thoughts, as follows.

Creativity is a way of life. It is deep within whatever it is that makes you GO!  It is far from an automatic process that can be monitored at random, but it is omnipresent and continuously functioning. It doesn't demand inspiration and is not necessarily triggered by unique circumstances.  Every moment of every day, whether exhilarating or mundane, stimulates the creative process.
The peaks of excitement in a lifetime should not have any different impact on creative activity than the lowest doldrums you reach.  Your own miraculous existence is the seat of your creativity.  Harness it!

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Creativity Quotes

He ain't wrong, he's just different and his pride won't let him do things to make you think he's right.
(Willy Nelson "Momma, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys)

I'd rather burn out than rust!

Monday, November 21, 2011

Creativity Quotes

This is the first of many quotes I will post on the topic of creativitySome will be forthright,some subtle and some downright obtuse, but all will address the topic from many vantage points.  ENJOY!

  • Happiness and beauty are the by-products.  Folly is the direct pursuit of happiness and beauty.

    G.B. Shaw

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Work in Progress

I am working on a novel set in Ireland in the 1600's. It begins in a town close by the castle of the Prince of Breffni.  The castle today is known as Parke's Castle and it sits on the shore of Lough Gill between counties Sligo and Leitrim. My fictitious family is on the threshold of feeling the impact of Oliver Cromwell's invasion of Ireland and all that follows......Stay tuned.


Monday, November 7, 2011


Writing based on observations of ordinary people going through their typical day of life raised my awareness of just how many people walk around seeming totally unaware of what's going on around them.  I felt privileged that my awareness provided me with a front row seat to the street theater that happens every day in a big city.  Drama that unfolded for me on my lunch hour was transparent to others as they moved in lock step back to their jobs



Relating only to what’s in front of their noses
The real essence of life passes by, flowing freely
And it can never be touched without reaching

Compressed in their own private niche of existence
Like a race horse, just seeing the track ahead
Wearing blinders to keep the mind focused on nothing

Like lying face down on the floor of a forest
Aware of the mosses, grub worms and leaf mold
The towering redwoods above – unnoticed

Forging ahead to your own Armageddon
Pause for a moment – reflect on life’s rhythm
Turn around – the whole world is right there behind you.

Greyhound Travelers

People watching took me to places where people assemble.  From the library to the bus stops, to park benches and the bus station. Quiet observation provided witnessing many unfolding dramas.  The following provides a few.



Your face shows youth and experience
Your hair is long and well groomed
The baby in your arms shows that you’ve carried few
A cardboard box tied with string goes as your baggage
Where to little mother?
Are you running from?
Going to?
Running with?
Going back?
Smile sad eyes
You’re young
You’ll bounce back
You will find it
Or lose it
You’ll have joy

Drafted hick
Strictly country
Well dressed
Hurtin’ bad
Bummin’ bread
Don’t understand
But compassionate
But unselfish
Pocket searching
Comes up empty
Grabs his sleeve
Country sweats
His bus is called

Lonesome Marine
Home with a buddy
Your eyes long for
Another time
Another place
A place of your own
To go to
But where?
Maybe never
A friendly smile
From your buddy’s girl
They’ll show you a good time
Home cooked meals
A date with her girl friend
They’ll all try
To make you happy.
Some how
They will fail

Tuesday, November 1, 2011


Working in any large city and even small towns, one is frequently confronted by panhandlers. Many who are down on their luck turn for solace to alcohol.  The following is based on many such confrontations with desperate, albeit creative panhandlers.


Winos should be authors
For the stories they invent
Are designed to touch the hearts of prosperous men
Their eloquence on tough luck
Is unmatched in all the world
And they’ll tell their sad story when ‘ere they can

They’ll tell you they need only
Eight more cents to buy a meal
As you reach in your pocket you know damn well
That as soon as you touch their dirty palm
With a little piece of change
They’ll go and blow it all on muscatel

They’ll ask you for direction
To a local cheap hotel
And ask for a little help to buy a bed
They’ll tell you how their pride
Is crushed to have to beg
And their wine soaked breath's enough to knock you dead

They’ll tell you of a family
Left starving in the hills
While they hitched a ride to town to find a job
Through tearful eyes they’ll tell you
That work is hard to find
And they’ll ask you for some money with a sob

Sometimes with open honesty
They’ll meet you on the street
Sayin’, “Buddy would you be a pal of mine?”
I’m down on my luck
Could you spare a little change
To help a drunk like me to buy some wine?

You’ll hear a hundred stories
From a hundred different smokes
And sad to say that most are probably true
They’ll touch your heart for sympathy
When they tell their woeful tales
If someone’s going to help, it must be you

Winos should be authors
For if they had the will to write
They could tell the whole world about their pain
If they could put their tragedy
In poetry or prose
Instead of muscatel, they’d drink champagne.