Prometheseus Speaks
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:13 PM | Comments (0)
November 23, 2022If You Enjoy Reading What I Write
If you enjoy my writing, I invite you to click on any one of the six links below. These are the six most popular posts of mine on MEDIUM -- an online platform where I am publishing daily. If you like what you read, feel free to subscribe to my posts and request to receive an email alert whenever anything new of mine is published there. Enjoy!
What I Learned, in a Closet, from my 3-Year Old Son
What It Really Means to Be a Friend
On Realizing the Nature of True Being
Here's the Problem with Reading Rumi
100 Sure-Fire Reasons to Go Within
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 08:37 AM | Comments (0)
September 25, 2021Here Comes the Awakening Creativity Conference
It's free. It's fabulous. It's for you -- especially if you are interested in what it takes for a human being to be as creative as possible. And... drum roll please... I am one of the featured speakers.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:05 PM | Comments (0)
May 10, 2020Where Poetry Comes From
TimelessToday
A Man of Few Words
Choosing the Poetry of Life
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 02:51 AM | Comments (0)
December 16, 2019The Fling
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 11:51 PM | Comments (0)
December 13, 2017THE CALL TO CREATE!
A star exploded deep within you years ago
and still the light has not yet reached your eyes,
not yet turned the night to day for birds to leave their nests
or monks their caves to play.
Blind to your own infusion, you insist there is nothing to see,
nothing to celebrate your reasonless being for,
and yet you feel it, you quake, you quiver to begin.
An unseen trembling turns your head,
the way you stand, the wind, the ground beneath your feet.
You think the shock of this bodily remembrance is fear
and do not sing, do not burst into song,
do not wring the beauty of the sound long buried in your bones.
You stop and throw a stone, half hoping it will come back to you,
and wait as if there was time,
wait, like a beggar ashamed to ask for a bowl to beg with.
How can this be?
The sky is bluer that the eyes of your own mother
on the day she first beheld you and still you cast your gaze down.
Don't you remember?
You were made in the image of God!
The Creator! The One who creates
river, eagle, ladybug, leaf.
If anyone else gave you the moon you'd call him a thief
or worse, refuse to look.
Give up the notion of stealing from God,
the only crime here is to hoard.
Prometheus?
Only board of chilly nights
with no flame to write his poetry by.
Posted by Mitch Ditkoff at 06:56 PM | Comments (0)