Writing is a wonderful craft. And though poetry may not be everyone’s cup of tea I love it. I also love nature and so I couldn’t resist writing a few words – in fact a poem about our relationship with nature which is so sadly in decline. So herewith my bitter-sweet poem “Patterns in the Sand” I hope you like it:

Patterns in the Sand

No more the rustling in the reeds
where finches shout out from the trees
as sunlight gleams on flashing wings
and yellow feathers drift like leaves;
Where grass nests swing in hammocked cadence
teasing muddied streams below;
and dipping branches brush the froth-foamed
earth-browned water’s bubbling flow.

No more the arches overhead
where branches meet in tunnelled shade
and close by on the shaded banks
the long-legged crane and water-fowl
print cross-hatched patterns on the sand.

For Nature was improved upon;
and altered till the wilds were gone
No mountain springs or inland streams;
but heated pools and cultured zoos;
with neatly labelled bars and cells;
all individual private hells.

Yes, Nature’s been neutered, cramped and computed
Her voice will be muted for decades to come.
She’s been catalogued and classified,
corrected and defined
homogenised and purified,
amended and refined.

Gusts of progress everywhere
Have blasted through the land
And finches’ nests have blown away
Like patterns in the sand.

Craft and Create - The Creative Route to Personal Development

Last night I watched a fascinating program on TV about child geniuses. One little chap as young as two and a half had amazing mathematical ability.  Other children showed their brilliance in music, chess, computer programming and so on.

But the young Russian poet, Nika Turbina, stole the show with an amazingly emotional rendition of her own poetry.

She didn’t look more than about 6 as she read or rather declaimed her sad poems to a rapt audience.  I couldn’t understand a word as it was in Russian but she was so passionate in her presentation that I found myself quite riveted.

It’s said that gazing out of a window at the age of 4 she astonished her mother with: ”Crimson moon, crimson moon, look in through the dark window at me. The room is black. The corners are black. Black houses. And black – I myself.”

Nika wrote a book of poetry between the ages of 5 and 8. When she was about 8 years old she read some of her poems to the famous Russian poet, Yevgeny Yevtushenko. ”Only poets can read like that,” was  his observation.

At the age of 12 at a reading of her poems in America she commented ”It takes a lot of energy and strength. When I read a poem I re-feel all the emotion that went into it; every word evokes the pain as when I wrote it.”

On the program I watched, it was suggested that the brain of a child prodigy was considerably advanced in one particular area and that this produced an imbalance of sorts.

The interesting thing is that most of these children lost some of their superiority in one way or another when they grew up. Some of them had problems adapting socially.

Sadly, when Nika grew up, she suffered from loneliness and was unable to have a normal social life. She committed suicide when she was in her twenties.

I would love to find a copy of her handwriting.  It would give us so much insight into her personality and her genius.

If anyone can find a photo of her handwriting please contact me so that I can write up and post a description of her personality here.

Craft and Create - The Creative Route to Personal Development

Here is a poem about the art of writing poetry. The idea is that poetry isn’t like any other form of writing.  Poetry is an art in itself and as such, is very close to the emotions of the writer.

While anyone can write an article and remain detached, writing a poem involves writing from the heart. That is why this particular poem has the title you see here.

So here it is:

A Poem is never Written Lightly

A poem is never written lightly;
to express a thought, a feeling or a prayer;
but torn from inner depths
and dredged from live emotion.

Then finely wrought and crafted, buffed and polished
and overlaid with coats of liquid pearl
it’s left to mellow over time
and glean its lustrous satin patina from
mantled layers of finely lacquered pain.

Only the yearning sough of the wind
Or the lightest breath of the softest sigh
can remove the fine dust of the filtering years
and allow it to glow.

copyright: craftandcreate.net 2009

Craft and Create - The Creative Route to Personal Development