candles exploding like spiders across the stars

“…and everything is going to the beat – it’s the beat generation, it be-at, it’s the beat to keep, it’s the beat of the heart…”

Jack Kerouac

At least twice in this past week, someone asked, “What is your beat?”

And I answered: “It’s new each day.” I write what I write and I like it that way.

I write about the birds and breeze, about small kids who play in trees.

I write about lost dogs and whales, and sometimes I tell fairy tales.

I write of oil, of spilling tears, of predators, of cheerful fears.

I write of songs and sunny days, of tragic wrongs and older ways.

I share war lore and birthday cake, eccentric art, choices to make.

And — each time I start to write, I know I finally got it right.

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!” (Jack Kerouac)

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5 Responses to candles exploding like spiders across the stars

  1. Matt K says:

    That tree is so soleful.

  2. amahl says:

    …and the beat of my heart races way off the chart.
    and with every beat a memory unfolds,
    of baby steps, of first shoes and of books.
    0f my a little girl trying to fly from a tree,
    only to land with a thud and a face full of glee.
    oh what stories i keep with every beat of my heart,
    ….. and the beat goes on…… and the beat goes on….

    • nadia drake says:

      “Poetry is the one place where people can speak their original human mind.”
      Allen Ginsberg 🙂

  3. Pingback: Whales — and a twitterpated writer | A Tale of Ten Slugs

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