I am going through and updating, deleting and generally spiffing up my blog. After 800+ posts and seven years, I’m sure this is past due! Thanks to the fabulous Alyson Stanfield and her Art Biz Blog for the prompt! I’m guessing no one needs to see old announcements about upcoming classes and shows that happened years ago so those will be the first things to go. In the meantime I’m revisiting a lot of posts that I’d forgotten about.

When I ran across this one I knew I wanted to share it again and knew exactly what images I wanted to match with it! When I posted this original poem in 2008 I hadn’t yet reach a stage in my blogging adventures to even know how to add images along with the words. Which ended up working perfectly because I hadn’t yet created these digital drawings.  I don’t share much of my poetry, this is the only one that made it to the blog and, as perhaps you might notice, I’m not necessarily in my happy place when I write it. I can’t recall ever feeling so happy I just had to write a poem about it! 🙂 During this one I was feeling creatively blocked as well as struggling with some life issues that wanted to overwhelm me. I’m glad I’m not in that place anymore! When I re-read it today I relate it more to the wintertime and all the things laying dormant under the snow waiting to be released into the sunshine to grow and flourish. I’m more than ready for that to happen as I gaze out the window at all the whiteness surrounding us today!


"anomoly" digital drawing © Lynne Medsker
“anomoly” digital drawing © Lynne Medsker
Fragile shoots of creative inspiration creeping from between the cracks 
in monotonous everyday life. Some struggle tenaciously for existence 
most wither quickly, life choked from them suffocating in the climate 
they were born.
Those that endure the harsh beginning required to grow without nourishment, 
pushing past smothering layers of daily tedium. Cautiously they proceed, 
death waiting, grasping, determined to wedge them under layers 
of unimaginativeness.
Scarcely any will survive the journey despite their most valiant efforts. 
Their route chaotic with sights & smells. The dead, decaying predecessors 
strewn recklessly along the way. A frightening path, even for the resolute.
Struggling to outrun the stench of failure the most resilient push forward, 
hoping that the next layer, or perhaps the next, will release them from 
this nightmare. Slowly, tentatively they surface, grasping their 
hard earned freedom.
Fresh air & sun caresses them and, though they are few, they sprout 
and blossom a furious riot of brilliant colors. A kaleidoscope 
of leaves and blossoms fed from the flesh of dead ancestors 
lying beneath the uncaring layers of life.
Tiny seeds drop working their way slowly down below the tiers 
of dullness and predictability, dormant. Waiting in dream-laced limbo. 
Flashes of life-giving inspiration ignite them, 
beginning another perilous journey upward toward the warm, inviting rays.
"below the surface" digital drawing © Lynne Medsker
“below the surface” digital drawing © Lynne Medsker


Tiny miracles

It was a cold winter day today, nothing unusual in that.  Freezing rain, wind, snow.  Big snow…at least as far as the flake size, not the tiny light little flakes that float through the air but the big chunky kind you feel when they hit your skin. Almost like ice, but not quite.  The kind that stays on you for a while, glistening before they slowly melt.  For some reason today I took extra notice of them, bright white against my black coat sleeve instead of impatiently brushing them off.  As I looked more closely at the tiny flecks I noticed the perfection of each little flake, like minature starbursts exploding in random patterns on my clothes and skin.  It reminded me of the images of snow that you see in advertising (or maybe cartoons?), perfectly formed, symetric, each similar yet each unique.  Why had I never seen each little detail as I did today?  I knew, with my head, my mind, that snowflakes were created to look like that. But the detailed images that I had seen in books or on television, they were viewed with a microscope, weren’t they?  I had always though so.  Had I never looked closely at them?  Thinking my own eyes weren’t capable did I never even try to see the details?  Or was today one of those rare, special days with magical snowflakes and extraordinary vision?  Maybe it was all of those things put together.  Whatever it was it will stick with me for a while, reminding me to have the awareness and faith that it takes to see the tiny miracles that surround me each day.