Elle
Bloody hell, aren't we silly, of course all the words have been written, painted, its how we do it - I know when I write love, everyone has done it, I just do it my way, - tell your friend she is silly - The definitive something hasn't ever been done yet!

I like you, I am impressed, I wish I had more time to participate and explore

Elle x
2010-12-05

Editorial Team
This text has been chosen to be featured on the front page of PoetBay. Thank you for posting it on our poetry web site.
2010-12-01

shells
I found this really uplifting and am now looking at the day differently, there are poems and there are excellent craftings, those like this one, that make you think, thank you, I needed this.
2010-11-30

John Ashleigh
A lovely tribute. I suppose this is sentimental to you. Let the emotion show, my friend. Again, a pleasure to read. Thanks for sharing.

Regards,
John.
2010-11-30

NicholasG
I tend to feel the day, although on the surface a great deal like many other days, is only what gets us to sharpen the pencil. What we put down on paper is the part of the day that filters through to the mind. We basically write about ourselves, and the universe and it's little bits are props. I think, to be an artist, something of which we have little or no choice about, we are also perfectionists, cursed never to achieve perfection, yet cursed to keep on trying. Sometimes we become a bit disenchanted and cut of an ear, but we return and sharpen the pencil so as to forget about the ear...
This is great and the examples of Monet and Beethoven are perfect.
Thank you,
Nick
2010-11-30

Effortlessly expressed, it seems.

I echo your sentiments. And choosing the Ninth to dot it i proves the case. I look out the window and see another cold, November day, and wonder what is left to say, knowing perfectly well there is a great deal to say. The question is, can I say it well. Can I say without cliche, with interest for the reader and myself. Can I say it honestly. It is as if this day is waiting, presenting itself as a challenge. I can simply live through this day (God willing), or I can stare it down and make something of it.

Anyway, writers write. They might say they are going to stop, but they never do. Not for long. And, sometimes the words do run out, and what comes is shite. But, writers write.

I'm glad you wrote this and posted it, it makes one think. If I believe even half of what I just wrote, it has been worthwhile for the thoughts it provoked. More than the theme, it's your ability to write so friggin well that I always notice, and that in itself is good, as impetus, as a challenge to myself. To all of us.

Write on.
2010-11-30

Lawrence Beck
I've often had the same thought, and I've offered myself the same excuse. How many haystacks did Monet paint? How many dead rabbits were painted by Chardin? It's not the subject which matters most; it's the treatment, the craft.
As always, your response is well crafted.
2010-11-30