Most days I pride myself with my independent thinking. Oh, yes, disciplined, very head-strong and independent. Not much outside persuasive argument or hard evidence can sway my thought patterns.
Well, that isn't true with things I don't know. Or things that I may have not remembered or learned correctly, like grammar. Those things, well and some other stuff, I'm open for correction and illumination.
But my thought process, what I choose to think about, that's my own destiny. Oh yes, except when it isn't. Sometimes someone will give me an mind-bug and I won't be able to think of anything else. And then there are the sneaky times. The long, slow, cooker of the soul times. In case you're wondering, I'm (virtually) looking at you Camille.
Edited 08-27-07 Removed text of poem to comply with submission policies. Sorry.
My first poem I've written on my own for a coons-age, and it's full of teen-age angst. Sigh. Ah well. Camille, a while back, said I might want to write more poetry. So I'm driving home and that line, "rag-a-bag teens collect" just won't leave me alone. I've had the scene in my notebook for a long time, but I've never had a place to use it.
So, the first crappy draft is done. Oh yes, my mind is a disciplined sieve.