Why...

I read all the comments
each person has ever sent
critiquing
about what I write
about how I write -
and still
I write as I do.

It isn't that I don't care
or don't listen nor understand
comments of:
too long
not quite good enough as it is
can be better ifs
interesting buts
you could say it this way
you SHOULD say it this way
and
all the myriad of so many others.

Its that once thoughts
have been released
let loose if you will
upon the unwary
there is NO pulling them back -
like a love's words
that slices
and may be forgiven
but CAN'T be forgotten.
There is no
rehashing
retouching
retrenching
re-creating
the moments of inception
from whatever inspiration passed
by flitting neurons
and pixel widgets
this way.

I don't write
with just
words...
I write with all of me
as I am
the way I am
for real
daily
while breathing each breath.
I live and have lived with
all the thoughts
I stretch to express.
They ARE my thoughts
my choice
conscious and not
and some are
nice - the gentle kitten purring
and some are
cold - steel-gray-eyed you-pray-looks-past-you
cold.

I don't plan my thoughts
and sweat blood taking hours
and hours
to weed through the morass
to get to a perfect kernal
that finality of an insight
perfection
then consciously say its ready.
I am extemperaneous
completely
living each moment
letting it flow and float
as it will
as my thoughts do
as most thoughts do
happen
now
today
this instant.

My poems have a voice
sometimes more -
there is NO silence here.
I think in symphonies
of sound and tone and tempo
and timing
and speech
with
whispers
shouts
hilarity
tongue-in-cheek
the rasp of a torn throat
the crying of a child
and all in between.

... and somehow
have the words
that to me
ARE
the moment.

Chris Twyford
Ancient117331
09/28/2004