Jun 10

Jun 10 Had a lovely nap in the Melbourne Cemetery today

Poem and painting by Darby Hudson

Last night I realised creativity wasn't something I did to win awards
nor to use as a Key Performance Indicator for a yearly performance review
or as an indulgence
nor something I do on the side
or to earn money
or for the cultural gatekeepers to accept or reject
or for recognition
or for YouTube
or to be shared
or for Likes
or for an exhibition
or as a vocation
or to dabble with
or for fun
or for a laugh
or optional
or to make others happy
or for strangers to ponder at a convention
or something to discuss over beers at a pub
or to tell my dad
or to tell some girl in a bar smoking alone
or for the elsewhere-clouds and for the credentialed greed of time passing
or for the voices between my fingers
or for the picture of a fish drawn by a child and corrected by a teacher
or to sail the forest of the heart
or to herd my mistakes on the glass of black ice
or to stamp my fear out on the lilies
or for the mathematician who cannot outbaffle the sea
or for the vibrating fathomless stars
or to hide the wild minutes in a still glass of water
or to write myself into or out of existence:
it's to keep me from going
completely
nuts.