and the lightning seeds of creativity trigger flashes that illuminate
the unending expanse of my imagination,
I am able to reach out and pull creations from lumniferous ether
and it is at such times that I grab my pen and conduct a bizarre dance.
The stage is my loose-leaf notebook and the dancers, my words.
The mental music plays, my pen glides, the words dance.
They move across the stage like ballet dancers twirling
around in their pink tights and ‘princess’ dresses.
Somewhere, a metaphor does back flips while a couple of similies
engage in the electric slide.
Elsewhere, a pun ‘bursts a move’ like a young Michael Jackson.
My ethereal world has all the real fakeness of a flight simulator
and my readers have oftentimes asked me:
‘Are you sure all your characters come from ephemera?’
I’ll admit that my creations are not all ‘products of the author’s imagination.’
I have been known to abduct real people and spirit them to my fictional world,
whereupon, I have camouflaged their identity.
When I am in my ‘creative mode,’ my mind is a dangerous place:
Any idle thoughts or ideas flying past like patrol aircraft are likely
to be sucked into the black hole at the centre of my consciousness
and emerging in another dimension –
Or more accurately, on the page of a book or website
to be read, analyzed and, perchance, appreciated
by lovers of the written word.
But not all my words are as cute as nymphs.
Fed by shocking news accounts from around the globe,
my mind will sometimes twist itself like a DNA strand,
my outraged conscience will groan like thunder and
dark thoughts will rip across my mental suburbs like Force 9 tornadoes
and the my words will be depressing, shocking and often un-publishable.
But my words deserve an audience for I do not exist
if I cannot express myself.
So let my words party like there’s no tomorrow,
let them slide across the dance floor like Russian ice skaters;
Let them dance!
(c) Alex N Nderitu
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