Support

Being a creative and wanting to be a writer of any sort of medium - or an actor - or a musician or artist - but whatever your medium you want to pursue your creative life in or be, we have to always have support.

But sometimes this doesn't come from home, or the ones that love you - or are supposed to love you.

Of course there are practical realities, first off if, brutally, if are you good enough or have talent to potentially pursue your creative being in more than a hobby or interest; can you afford to pursue your creative path seriously if you chose to want to make it as a freelancer in that realm; or even if you reach the heady heights of being produced it can still be a mountain struggle...but if you can, and you go down, the path of opting for a creative creative most creatives need support. It doesn't stop the arguments, having to live in a competitive captialist society...but support - if you are good enough, should be there in some form. If you can't get it from those around you, then you need to think are you strong enough to do it alone? Face the tension, the arguements for art? For your art? If you can't find it in those closet to you, or your community, how do you go on? How do you go on if it won't bring in money? How do you find those rivers and channels to wash the pain away when you strive to show your talent and give it as a gift to this world (and hopefully be recompensed in a good way for it?) - in short how do you do bring art when you don't have the belief from those around you?

It's tough tbh. And for some they decide to give up on the art career due to these factors, finicanal strains and personal and family issues and duties are a reality. Yet, those that burn with images, stories and sounds need to see if they can shoot them into the sky as soon as they can, and if it can't be negoiated, can you live with the consequences of putting your art first and craving a time, even if it's just a half an hour or even five minutes, then you need support with that. And sometimes that won't come from anyone around you. You have to find that inside yourself. You have to be your own support. You can find others too outside - those that have read your writing, seen your images, heard your sounds - that can help sustain you, but you need in the end to have that core of steel of support within. Otherwise when you're told to give up, you may just crumble.

Tuesday throwback poem

Hi all, hope you're all keeping well and safe. Thought about sharing with you for this throwback Tuesday a poem I wrote a while ago that was picked for, and first published in, Her Heart's Poetry Anthology The Annual in 2017. I do hope you enjoy it!

 "Exhausted, Content"

by Rosamund Gravelle

Do you remember those dreams we used to share 

silently in the night, with sticky covers binding our forms, 

warm breath mingling sweetly between?

When time hadn’t made us yet fear the world

or riddled and faded our bodies.

Remember those caresses and kisses deep

of how we melted and dissolved into one another,

whole worlds born and destroyed within us 

time and time again?

I remember how you looked at me –  

all fogged-eyed and smiling

Us, we, safe in each other’s bodies two forms made one,  

Finally, exhausted, content.

Bough of Delight by Rosamund Gravelle

I wrote this poem in 2018 and it was published in the Her Heart Anthology of that year. Hope you enjoy it.

Bough of Delight

Wandering through the bough past thistles and grasses

 that scratch our legs and thighs and move us deeper and deeper along

You turn to me, with your red, rose mouth wide, and, stock still,

I grasp your pressing, urgent kiss.

I fear I am drowning now deep in this mist of love and desire

that is rising and coursing through my bloodstream.

The sun swims on the river, rippling like a surface snake,

Bouncing glistening globs of water into the trees.

Only our breath makes sound. But Time, as ever is fleeing,

And a curtain of night descends and glooms the glen

So we clamber back through the dark thickets and muddied paths,

and part, as we came, two strangers unknown.