Putting Fingers to Keys

It used to be “putting pen to paper,” but now, the instant access to a broad audience means that we throw ideas and words out like old underwear, not really caring who sees them.  So, here is some underwear for you to watch as it spins around the clothes line.

It has been so long since I actually wrote something and I invariably have a number of excuses.  The most honest excuse is that I have been afraid to commit to something that I feel passionate about.  Fear of failing, but wanting to be successful.  Feeling inadequate, but seeking recognition.

I want to write.  I want to communicate.  I want to tell stories.  I want to create a photograph with words.

Fear is a great motivator and a bastard of a thief.

So here is a recent kernel of an idea.

I took a piece of paper and folded a paper crane.

I breathed into it the sacredness of life.

Transforming still flesh into a gentle rhythm

heard first in the darkness, a hymn of praise

A sharp intake, an exhalation

It took wing and I blessed it as it flew away,

an emblem of fragile beauty.

Time to take that piece of string I tied around my foot, pull it over my shoulder and give myself a good, swift kick up the bum.  Time to simply write, even it is rubbish.  Especially if it is rubbish.  A good analogy I once heard in relation to songwriting, that also applies to writing, is to “pump the well.”  At first, all you get is mud, detritus, but if you keep pumping, you will find clear, clean water.

I won’t be away for so long.  I promise.

Outside the Box

Each way I turn I am confronted by

conditions, restrictions

definitions, contradictions

tick this box

place a cross here

sign below please

The individual is categorised and correctly catalogued

for the supermarket shelf

so the discerning consumer may browse

the conveniently processed and packaged

new and improved, 97% fat-free

low cholesterol, salt-reduced people

I am placed in the bargain bin tagged “For Quick Sale”

a broken commodity

I will not fit their neat little boxes: I defy description

The little box created for me

will not restrict me, confine me

nor define me

I will be known

I will be understood

I will be found

outside the box

 

This poem was originally written for the opening of an art exhibition by a group of disabled artists called Studio ARTES.  The studio operates to assist people with physical and intellectual disabilities in a range of endeavours: work skills, travelling and finance, art and creative pursuits.  The title of the exhibition came out of continued discussions with government bodies for funding, but because their focus was varied, they were not able to be neatly categorised for government paperwork.

The metaphor of a box being used to define and categorise a person is not uncommon; the box being a metaphor of how we define ourselves, or have others define us; or how we make judgements based on preconceived ideas.  Thus the exhibition and this poem were an exploration of the preconceived boundaries that are placed upon people with physical or intellectual disabilities, about what they can or cannot accomplish.

Don’t dis my ability.