My words have helped me, also words by many and various people very much still do help me; I get great pleasure from playing with the words, both in the reading and in the writing.
It is The National who I listen to now, singing on the car stereo in the background, they are one of my favourite bands, and here they are singing a song called Afraid of Everyone.
I peruse on how true that is for most of us; we are all a little bit afraid of everyone don't you think, I certainly am, what The National sing sure rings true for me.
So what of the poetry on this Tuesday morning, what are the poems to be about; the roadside, the kerbs, the dividing lines, the clouds in the sky.
About the house for sale signs, the wondering why, or about nearing the motorway, entering the vast expanse of shimmering blue light.
Last night I was reading poetry by a guy who was going to buy himself a brand new Ducati motorbike, you might recall that we once saw one, outside The Rock Inn at Yelverton.
The poet was on a trip to the Italian factory, to witness his custom-built, limited-edition, highly prestigious motorcycle being built.
He wrote a couple of memorable lines, one about an Italian artist who embedded the spirit of silence in his paintings.
I will get out that line, I will recreate that line; the poet's name is Frederick Seidel, his latest book is called Ooga Booga.
I am also reading a book about the writing of poetry, about the poets and their constructions, admirably deconstructed for us by Jane Hirshfield, in her book Nine Gates.
She is a wonderful writer, who explains in intricate detail the cause and effect of many of the things which I have come across through sheer happenstance and chance; that and also through the many pleasure filled experiences of reading imaginative poems and poets.
Jane puts into words what I try to achieve with my own creations; maybe I am reading too much into her work.
Although some days I do honestly believe, that I do have a bit of the poet, somewhere secreted about me.
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