half-formed thoughts

Is there a danger to weaving words to accompany half-formed thoughts? Is there potential for something to slip through the holes in the net where the edges don’t meet, and the words soldier on regardless, trying to crochet their way valiantly around the nothingness? Everything is something (maybe) but time is money and money is time and I sometimes wonder which it matters more to waste.

Regardless, the words keep wending onwards, flitting through my mind with the alacrity of shadows leaping up a vertical surface, bird-shaped yet distorted by the planes of obstacles in their path. This, perhaps, is one of those posts which should give pause – one which I may later regret or wish I had done differently. The kind of sharing of rolling thoughts perhaps better contained within the drafts folder I never use, or swept into the corners of my brain to gather dust and wither through lack of attention. The kind of writing which causes more discriminating writers to quaver before hitting ‘publish’, agonising over whether or not it will give credence to their claim to the title ‘Writer’, or undermine it.

In the ways traditionally used to measure ‘Writer’ness, I’m credenced to the hilt. Nothing I write here will undo the facts of past writings, and whilst it’s tempting to rest on the laurels of achievement, nothing I write here will undo the complicit lack of self-belief in my status as ‘Writer’, nor my should-be-mutually-exclusive-but-isn’t innate arrogance in my own ability.

Tell me I’m wrong?

There is leeway in artistic licence (which, I read tonight, is no excuse for an abominable surfeit of ignorance, rather something which should be played with, for fun, when one is appraised of all the facts) and the knowledge that everything’s subjective, and one person’s favourite is another’s worst nightmare. One only needs to see the much-vocalised black/white divides in opinion over books publicised as anything but…

This isn’t where I was going.

I wanted to take you to a few of the places my mind’s been this week, which weren’t big enough places to stand alone, but small thoughts – snippets, if you will – of thinks which may or may not have greater importance than that to which I attribute them…but equally might remain small. Yet small can be mighty, as Persil adverts and ants so often serve to remind.

I read somewhere that it’s no good to go out and try to make friends. That to build successful relationships you need to go out and BE one. In the spirit of which, I feel I’ve possibly made new friends and somewhere along the way managed to wayside the old, especially in the Blogosphere. Things change, I know, and times and people and priorities are all always in flux, and in the end it’s what’s maintained by both parties that counts. One-sided relationships rarely bring joy, and perhaps this is something I should factor into that other oft-quoted adage, about loving people and letting them go (if they’re for you, they’ll come back of their own accord). That, or ‘flogging a dead horse’, which whilst base, is remarkably apt.

This still isn’t it. Not *it* it…

Holding books in my hands, with my name on the cover, another collaboration, a beautiful, tangible truth of poetry and effort on the part of my 1000mile heart…that was beautiful and soul-piercingly sweet, and also achingly nothing, because once more (in spite of my arrogance and the forgiving nature of poetry) I still feel I’m not there yet. And where, precisely, is there? No idea. Only that I’m not at it, and perhaps that’s cause to keep striving.

half-formed thoughts - summat2thinkon.wordpress.com

Poetry, though, and its forgiving nature, can cover all manner of sins and intentions and things best left unsaid but which must *must* somehow be expressed or else they’ll rupture the soul trying to hold onto them. Admittedly not all poems, though there are those which begin in the brain and just beg to be written for the sheer writing of them. Those others, though – the ones imbued with heart-blood and visceral need – can be allocated clean space and given breath as the letters build patterns build words, drumming rhythms where given and rhymes which might not, taking portions of soul and slices of time, secreting them in plain sight for all to see through dark glass and bright light, never showing their whole truth, whilst simultaneously dazzling with verity.

Love is a stranger in an open car; to tempt you in and drive you far away…

Would you consider yourself driver or driven? Faux or ungiven? Wholly committed or never-quite-fit-ed, or something else entirely?

Love is…strange.

But good, and something I think can win battles and battles and battles, if not the whole war, definitively. I love the concept of #LoveWins, and I love the idea that people doing small things, with love, can one-at-a-time begin to tip the balance in its favour. I’m not obtuse – I know it’s an uphill battle and one which persists, but so too does love persist, and persisting, loving persistently and giving it our very best shot, we can continue to know that every shove we add to the boulder takes it onwards and upwards, and with more of us ever committed to shoving, perhaps the crest may one day be in sight, if never truly achievable in this life.

Especially as, with stunning forgetfulness, so many of us remain the centres of our own worlds (I know I do, most of the time). I’m reminded of an essay or an aside, I think by Lewis Thomas (a relation by choice, ish) whereupon he placed the tip of his pencil to the page, and sat, absorbed, calculating what it would take to make that point of contact the very centre of the universe, and how the orbits of the planets and stars must swing off their axes and follow new routes to manifest the new middle.

Aren’t we always doing that, in a way? Railing (though carelessly) against a world which thwarts us by not putting us at its centre. We struggle to accommodate the mind-boggle of an existence where the planets are constantly spinning off their arcs, no longer concentric, as they battle to circle ever-changing points of contact, of selves not yet aware of their true place – crawling on the surface of a relatively miniscule dot, a green and blue miracle amidst the vastness of Everything – oftenest leaving naught but a shadow climbing across the planes.

The bird whose shadow climbed the fence and set me thinking, after a flash in my peripheral alerted me to its presence, had fellows or brethren a day later, in a similar skyspace, who flew in an almost-perfect circle across the blue overhead. The circle elipsed into the shape of a disgusted mouth, as I watched, and was lost to view in the treetops, casting its sneer across the pathway of other eyes. I thought along a pathway of thinks I’ve thought before, and felt the simultaneous draw to the idea of being a bird – of that freedom of flight and aerobatic ability, and distaste for the outsidiness and all-weatheriness and predicament of being so low in the chain of beings.

All in all, on the whole, I’d rather be able to ponder the complexities of birds and universes and poetries, even if I make little sense and leave this place as off-kilter and wordy as I arrived. But having arrived, having written, having shared the somethings and nothings of my mind and admitted to things which perhaps I should not have, whilst never outright acknowledging what they are…is a privilege I rather appreciate.

In the meantime, amongst the somethings and nothings, lies love. And the centre of the universe.

Let Me Love You Anyway

Click to see it, buy it, whatever it…(review it?) ❤

18 thoughts on “half-formed thoughts

  1. Hello Lizzi!
    It seems to me that your mind is playing tricks on you and led you to ponder about, as you put it “the somethings and nothings”, which I rather enjoyed reading. What to share or not, to write or not, to let the flow of thoughts go wild for a post or many… good writing is always good writing. I found myself here there in your words, so thank you for sharing!
    Take care

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hi Claire, I’m so glad you enjoyed the back-and-forth of my thoughts. I think I got to a place with them where there was a bit of a logjam of small things and nothing was coming through without some careful extrication of words onto screen.

      I hope my writing will always be good…it’s something I (arrogantly) tend to assume, which is why I don’t stress (so much) about these weird little posts of unclogging the neurones and hanging bits of the brain out to dry.

      Liked by 1 person

    • Awwwh thank you SO MUCH, Jennifer! I think as a poet, I ‘arrived’ a long time ago, then. I’ve been a poet for more years than I haven’t been, and I love that my words are able to have impact and resonate in other people’s hearts and minds through that medium 🙂 I hope you enjoy the book!


  2. Once again, your words are a gift to us. When I read one of your pieces, I extend my neck and squint my eyes in order not to miss one single word you write. Honeybee, the way you weave words together seems effortless and is absolutely exquisite! Thanks for sharing on my Friends page!!! xoxo

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’m so glad you asked for people to share what they had written, because it inspired me to get and actually WRITE something. I didn’t want to share the same-old same-old that I seem to have fallen into a pattern with lately!

      SO glad you enjoy it! Thank you for saying such lovely things and I love the idea of you not wanting to miss a single word. HUGE love to you, Honeybee ❤ ❤


  3. You are such an incredible writer, Lizzi!! Even your “half-formed thoughts” are eloquent and breath-taking. Wow. I loved all of it, but my favorite part was the image of people loving persistently, pushing that boulder up and up and up. Thank you for loving, for shoving that boulder and for making our world a better place with your words in your corner of the blogosphere.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I keep falling disenchanted with my corner of the Blogosphere, and yet somehow posts like this happen, and I get such lovely feedback like yours, it makes me want to keep going, to keep shoving, to keep putting in and remembering that there IS much to be gotten out of it. THANK YOU!

      And thank you too, for such lovely words! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing! I’m off to see if your panel’s gone live yet!


  4. That was one of my favorite songs back in The Day
    and today, it’s yours
    and everyone’s.
    You’ve arrived more than you know
    or at least, enough
    because where is there anyway?
    Sometimes, good enough is,
    although some of us feel like
    and that nothing is ever
    good enough.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Wish I could turn back time
      To the good old days
      Back in The Day
      When enough
      Was enough
      Was enough
      And we none of us
      Were un-enough
      To question whether
      The songs we sang were
      Echoes of other hearts
      Uniquely our own
      And that was everything.


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