The Madness of Art

Can’t you see the beauty in it.
Blank in its formless shape a potter begins to mold her creation.
Whisking paint across an already smudged canvas he screams…
Can’t you see the beauty in it!
How can you not. My god!
Pounding, Slamming, Crying out for understanding.
What do you want of me says the singer?
Forcing the melody to a page of lines from the clouded head of creativity.
A hum too faint to be audible becomes a chorus of the first line.
Meanwhile out back in the garage the high pitched whistle of white hot light whispers.
Forged from rusted steel, iron and sweat.
Can you see the beauty now?
Maybe you if you stand back…over there…
How about now?
I understand this madness all too well.
Words coming so fast I can’t think.
The artist knows of this madness.
A madness that can’t be squelched.
Like water from a fire hose it comes through them.
There is no relief from this stream of the unconscious pursuit of the perfect.
For there is beauty in the ordinary that makes things extraordinary.
It comes and it comes and it won’t stop.
No amount of sleep, drugs or therapy will make it end.
It only dulls the din of wanting out of his head.
A self expression so pure only the artist knows the madness of art.
Can you see it now she cry’s.
Backed into a corner slumped down, brush in hand… it is done she smiles.
The torch of molten creativity has faded like a boiling tea pot removed from the flame.
The madness of art stops…only to be torn down and begun again.
Can’t you see the beauty in it!?

 Spoken Words by Gerald Grinter

I Am a Ghost

I do not share the same faith as my parents, and left their faith at age 24 (I’m now 34). After some good old fashioned family drama concerning religion and things of that nature, I had this line “I am a ghost” running through my head. I jumped out of bed to write this, and Deborah kindly gave some suggestions (I tend to use big words where they aren’t needed, thanks Deborah). Here you go:

I am a ghost

Whilst you take consideration from those who are not your family

I am a ghost

The way my spoken thoughts get lost in the mist and midst of absolution

I am a ghost

Blood is thicker than water – in your eyes it dissolves in the sweet honey of slander

I am a ghost

Accusations instead of conversation- hurt instead of love – Pain instead of family

I am a ghost

I am a ghost

I am a ghost

Your words are like water.

This post is for Deborah.  She asked me to write in the moment. And so I did.   As I was listening to everyone’s writing and voices I was inspired with all  of your words.  Thank you Deborah for your inspiration.  The size of my world has increased in being a part of your group.

Your words are like water.

Pure in meaning

Nourishing my soul like rain.

Spring to life a yearning quest to hear more.

If only a daily taste I get, it gives ecstasy to my heart and mind.

I have found a place of sanctuary.

Your words are like water.

Bringing a depth of presence only you know.

Water they say is the gift of life.

Embracing form with substance.

Your words have found me floating like a broken branch washed up on the shore.

Now firmly re-rooted on the shore of this discovered utopia.

Awaiting more words like water.


Gerald Grinter

November Heart

November crawls out of my skin

Leaving my insides naked

And cold

At the bottom of old trees

Whose rough roots toil to keep warm

My soul as it burrows into mud.


Huddled on mountainsides

Bent crooked in wind

Under the first blast of snow

These trees, oh, these trees,

Oh, I hear them laugh and sing

As they shed orange-red leaves before blue-white snow.


Those old trees, they call my name

“Hey!” they shout

“Why are you so dark?

Open your heart!

We trees don’t have one.

How lucky you are.”




William Dudley Bass

November 9, 2011

(Originally published at

© Copyright 2011 by William Dudley Bass