Words are alluring, beguiling,
on Wormwood's tongue,
weaving intricately,
gorgeously crafting them into elaborate fabrications,
each sleek, metallic sound spewing out behind some silk worm,
seemingly mechanically threading along,
but glance at the underside of the cloth,
and you would see brocade designs in ulterior colors.
Words are worlds, are whims, are wonders,
in the hands of a poet,
enigmatically piecing patch-work, rectangular words, rounding out the sharpness of jagged truths,
softening laundered textiles—
poetic prevarications— to warm—to heal—to comfort...
Thus poets and worms alike are known to hide
beneath a downy counterpane of lies…
I love this intricately woven text(ile), Charlie, and it's so good to see you posting your fine poetic needlecraft again. This is intoxicatingly smooth as the silkworm's thread and I love the metaphor and the downy truths it both reveals and conceals. Writing is, of course, complete sleight of hand and is always multi-layered, whether consciously or subconsciously. There is trickery in it's conception, composition and intention for certain sure - compounded by the ways in which it is also received by the reader. But, more times than not, any subterfuge is not wilful or deliberate - it's just that words are, when all's said and done, very inadequate vehicles of meanings of ideas that are not altogether clear to even the author. But the pictures you paint with words are beautiful and I have had a very strong image these past few days that the more I write the more moth-eaten or worm-ridden my work is becoming and all I can see is dust; there is no fabric left! Perhaps I need to hide me away for a while until the wonderful worms have spun me some fresh silk to work with! Hope you and your little ones are hugely well and happy. Thanks for looking in to see me when you can! :)) xx
Your worms are friendly and mysterious at the same time. They work slowly, relentlessly, with mechanical precision to attain their goal. (More benevolent than "mine"). Just like those wordsmiths who perfect their healing touch, day after day. Let's spin more thread and weave more poetry together! :)
Hmmmnnn, had to think on this a while but yes I can see this in my mind. Each poem, each line and each word...perhaps even each letter is a product of the writers thoughts....lies...maybe, imagination...maybe...but from heart and soul...I believe so at least in the case of poets.
fee
The gifted and fascinating Urban Poet, Asa D Seeley, once again speaks. He introduces a New Genre of Poetry...Reality Confrontation. Juxtaposed with Essay and staying true to his unique style, Asa brings a breath of...fresh air...to the world of poet
Hearts of Gold
Synopsis
by
Frank P. Whyte
Portland, Oregon is known as the City of Roses. Of course that’s an odd name for a city whose mere mention conjures images of driving winds and torrential ra
The deep-dive literary meditations presented as stories, poems, and essays in The American Poet Who Went Home Again, A Mosaic of My Soul at Work, have captivated and inspired readers ever since its first paperback publication in 2008.
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Cryssa
Axilea
must on occasion trip over his/her legerdemain.
Good one, Charlie. -gene.
was so glad to see your posting... pat
fee