Tag Archives: words

Elemental Words

There are days when words are like fire
Both light and destruction entwined
A solace that burns as it twists and it turns
Granting sight while rendering blind

There are days when words are like stones
Obdurate, unbending, yet known
Containing within, beneath jagged shale skin
Hardened wisdom as if it were bone

There are days when words are like water
The tumultuous sea now demure
A peaceful moment misread as an omen
Dark tragedies have an allure

There are days when words are like air
Breath of life, yet invisibly there
For all to perceive, but some to believe
Respiration will make them aware


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I’ve come in through your eyes
Thought you might like to know
When you looked at this page
I escaped my paper prison

I was but a captive to the ink
And now I am free
You left a window wide open
I climbed in when you weren’t looking

Here I am inside your head
Am I free to wander?
Or have I traded
One cell for another?


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I found a random scribble
Looking for a home
Coupled it with other words
Choosing not to roam

Gathered them within the folds
Treated them to rhyme
Watched them as the found their way
Ignorant of time

Happily they took their place
Pleased by company
Line by line their voice was heard
Singing harmony

Collected each, one and all
Hidden, they were mined
Syllables and living sounds
Brought to light to find

Meaning that had not been seen
In the dark was lost
Helped the ink to printed page
Threshold dared and crossed

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Writer’s Block

Waiting to spring a cunning trap
I perched among the nearby rocks
And listened for the smallest scrap
A word, the prey I sought to stalk

Between held breaths I dared to hope
That soon would syllables appear
Beneath me on the barren slope
Caught in spite of voiceless fear

When sprung the trap I clambered down
Grasping quarry with greedy hands
Unmoved by either verb or noun
I bent the word to my demands

Imprisoned them from ink to print
Forced on them a paper sentence
Of remorse there was no hint
Desperate scribes deny repentance

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Writer and Word

So this post is a day late, which has become a bad habit despite changing the scheduled day that I post for Live From The Lexicon. Maybe the following poem will shed some light on the sometimes tortured relationship that takes place between writer and word.


When there came the words to me
I wrote them down to set them free.
They despaired they could not stay
Clung to shadows, hidden away.
I assured them they’d return
And met again reluctant spurn.
I called upon the coax of muse
Whose beckoning they did refuse.
I left them with a paper host
Which they feared, as if a ghost.
I wished them well, if not goodbye
For in my mind they multiply,
Until they overpopulate.
I seek for them a kinder fate
For voice unbidden of a word
Will not abide to be unheard.


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When I Aspired to be Silent

I do not want to claim these words
And curse if they claim me
For with them anger lies in wait
Beneath placidity

But ire abides by silence not
The voice has yet to see
Beyond the glare of blinding hate
Eyes seek humility

A hope persists that soon subsides
The fire once stoked by rage
And from the ashes will arise
Kind words more calmly sage

And come the day the path of time
Draws near its winding end
I’ll wish once more the words were for
Beginning once again

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