Creative thinking and the creative process

Last night I saw demons
when I closed my eyes to rest,
faces from the Cathedral of Chartres.

They appeared slowly
from a black screen glowing
their faces red and bright.

Scrolling the landscape of my life
I search for landmarks that should be there

There was a time I could see the sun
scattering its light upon the lake as
I flew above the water
reading of daisies, wind, and light.

I modeled the rise of ancient towns,
interpreted details of the Bayeux tapestry,
and plotted the routes of the First Crusades.
I wrote about the Book of Hours
studied the Druids,
the myths of Wales and Cajun tales.

Working late into the night
I explored binary functions
and the effects of gravity
on fields of light.

I critiqued the art of Cezanne
and walked at will throughout the Louvre;
showed them how to rebuild Reims,
analyzed the works of Bach and Franck,
and taught the philosophy of ancient Greece.

I was an oracle.

Today as I read an ancient book
written by a vanished scribe;
I slurp my tea and
eat vanilla cake that crumbles
into my lap, then falls
upon the floor; and my shaking hand
cannot pick up the crumbs from there.

My lips are dry, my jaw is slack,
my neck too small for my collar.
I listen for the laughter of the past
while I point my cane
in front of me, tapping it staccato
in time to my one-inch steps.

I draw deposits from the bank of memory
but the details will not appear for me.

Instead I see demons;
faces from the Cathedral of Chartres.
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Copyright © 2013-2024 Dennis C. Mellersh
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_____ Dennis Mellersh, Content Journalist: