30 day writing challenge

Hello expression Monkey’s. So I was going to start this thirty day challenge in May but when I get an idea I like to run with it. Let’s brake from convention and do a mid month challenge together. It is so important to stay connected as artist, especially in an extremely competitive and left brained environment. Our culture puts artist in a double bind; when we are small most of us are forced to participate in things like piano lessons or violin (for boys it’s sports) as a way to develop sophistication to get into a good college. When we grow up, the very thing we are pressured into doing becomes a liability (this goes for sports too) and we get judged and told that we aren’t living in the real world. It can be even worse amongst other artist who will parse out those of us who don’t measure up to certain standards such as making enough money or other random ways to makes us feel unworthy. It can take tremendous effort to block out the noise while also being open and sensitive enough to reflect “as twere the mirror up to nature”

This challenge will not have a specific theme and instead we will write 1-2 lines each day, adding to the lines we did the day before. Follow along and post your piece or wordpress link in the comments below, or just keep it in your personal journal. Good luck, have fun and remember DON’t Think.

30Day WritingChallenge

Midnight sky holding the trees down in a blanket of yellow speckles. Oh that drinking cup.

Take me through the portal to the ancestors crouched into the woods toward the call of freedom

Avoid the fishers who poke in to gather information to structure your own noose.

The clouds keep the moon from pointing out our path and brings haze on our direction.

chains and bondage make the flight worth the fear, yet no promise on the other side.

Loved ones torn away sold to the highest bidder echoes cries from the north star.

Master threats makes most crumble while wild dreams takes the hands of a terror less daunting. Possibilities lie ahead in the dark

Trusting widow to the bible holding down a generation of salvation set aside by a will to survive.

The sound of the river breeds hope to tired legs and blistering toes, the path towards some semblance of relief and a place that mother earth anoints the weary.

Set out for an impossible dream reaching for a light side of horror; set in scars to be blended under the surface.

One more day, the sun rising on the horizon and a greener grass grows strong.

May this be the day, one were freedom rings and the dream made manifest.

A less harrowing walk to the school bells over the bridge and separation a small price to pay for books stacked high.

Adopted religion to set history right on wooden pews, making the butt hurt and the soul fly.

Eager to get it right for the children and silent to the humiliation that tattered the backs; holding the head up with forced dignity to the butler.

A century of good intentions paved in voting rights and hanging laundry tainted in plans for the day.

A misery lost on the masses and buried not far off the surface of those who look in the rear view mirror.

A dawn breaking through blood sweat and tears standing tall with applause.

Smiles with the dean and the start of a road less traveled.

Take in air.

Placing petitions on the map and lacing sneakers in double knots to stop from tripping and keeping the pace.

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