This Is Not An Exercise

"This is my letter to the world, 

That never wrote to me, . . ."

~ Emily Dickinson, J. 441

On a visit to social media this morning, I was reminded that today is World Poetry Day.  I had already planned to create a new blog entry containing a poem I wrote Tuesday, and now it makes sense why I was delayed in doing so.  

I will note that this poem is not intended to undermine or discourage participating in workshops, classes or mentoring opportunities which incorporate writing prompts and exercises.  The intent of this poem is to value spontaneous human creativity.  It came to me at a time of day when it was not particularly convenient for me to write, but I did so anyway - and that is the point.  

It's not the only poem I wrote or read in this past week.  Synchronicity is ever with us.

This Is Not An Exercise

I am not in a workshop
I am not in a class
I am not "AI prompted"
It is not induced labor
I did not watch a video
I am not presently on Zoom
I responded to nobody's question
I'm not following directions 
in a book (or anywhere else)
I can edit it, or not
It has no particular destination
But it demanded some clarification.
It simply IS.
I am calling it "my writing".
I didn't plan to write it now.
I'll even dare to call it a poem.
Because obviously, it is.
(Do I really need to say that?)
A poem that's now complete.

~ Susan Larison Danz, March 17, 2026

Blossoms photo by Susan Larison Danz on March 21, 2026

Reclamation

 Would we ever value anything "real" again?

~ Susan Larison Danz, Extinction Level #3

 

I never really know when another story will arrive.  Perhaps the one that arrived just a little while ago is a story that doesn't quite feel like a story.  And yet it very much is.

Extinction Level #3 by Susan Larison Danz

There came a point, and it seemed to happen very quickly, when innate authenticity was no longer valued (at least by those who didn't value it).

Even that word "value" seemed misplaced.  It was reminiscent of what we had been taught about the Gold Rush.  But the desolation was worse.  And the "Fool's Gold" was rampant.

Would we ever value anything "real" again?  Just to speak about it was to know that some of us would - and perhaps more than ever.

I was writing a story, a very simple story, using words so very preciously my own.  Its value was intrinsic to itself.  

Meanwhile, the production factories were doing what they were doing.  They were utterly sterile, whirring endlessly.  It really didn't matter what they produced through their projections.  All they generated was noise.

The people who genuinely cared about the process of creation knew what it was really about.  It is a process, not just a product.  It was seeable, though others would say it was not.  The very product in which the factories had a part was inferior to anything that was authentically created.  It was so very seeable, one could even call it obvious.  

A child could see it.  (Of course.)

I was writing a story, a very simple story, and appreciating the process, without a crutch, or an artificial catalyst, not a word or an idea.  I intended to write it as it flowed.  It didn't even need to take a lot of time, though had it taken a lot of time, that would have been just as fine as less.

When you know it, you truly feel it.  Authenticity is who you are.  It demands no artificial ingredients.  

It is simply you.

What about the theme?  And what about the title?  Oh yes, it is entirely possible to go extinct, to choose or be fooled into choosing.  It's a poison that is every bit as effective as arsenic.  It happens rapidly or a little at a time.  It's when you decide that you are "less" and the alternative must be better.  

No, it's not better, and it will never compare.  

You are more than enough.  You can even reclaim yourself and come back to life. 

 

Clouds photo by Susan Larison Danz on December 10, 2025