choose more wisely
the words you speak
be selective
when you open your mouth
don’t utter drivel
nonsense does no one any good
words
“Sticks and Stones”
words are sticky
they can hurt, despite the rhyme’s insistence
beware therefore
those who hurl them carelessly
as pearls before swine
for their voices will carve your skin
and break your bones
This little piece is inspired by the words given to us at this week’s Sunday Whirl.
“Come Alive”
there are things that need to be said
things that make the heart sing
or ache
words unspoken that yearn for the air
that once breathed into being
become like feathers
floating away
leaving in their wake
a sense of freedom and fulfillment
there are things that must be said
hopes and dreams require fuel
without voice they cannot emerge into the light
without the light they cannot be seen
and shared
there are things which we fear to speak
words that clutch and claw at our hearts
threatening to tear us open
leave us raw and bleeding
these too must be spoken
must be exposed and examined
for they are impediments to our true selves
to our happiness
our wholeness
set pen to paper, hold a brush in your hand
make music and art and poetry
and give breath to your fears
to your hopes
your dreams and beliefs
your wondering and your pain
allow it to live
and then to be free
“Approaching Clarity”
a bitter wind blows impatiently
a voice I listen to
while I sit quietly
warming myself not with a fire
but with words
approaching clarity without never truly reaching it
This week’s Wordle-inspired poem. I’m trying to begin the year with writing, but have been a little uninspired, dealing with other issues in my life. I’ll get back in a rhythm soon, I hope. I miss writing.
“Telling Stories”
bear them proudly and do not weep
or seek to change
the scars of a life lived
in exquisite fervor
impassioned delight
wraps you with imprints of enchantment
magic woven into flesh
revealing stories
too amazing to be bottled within
instead leave the chronicles
exposed
their presence is a bargain
This week’s prompt from Poetic Asides inspired this piece, which turned out a lot different than I expected, but that’s usually the way of my writing.
“A Poet’s Price”
once I told someone
that poetry is all about play
about taking words and pressing them together
in ways that are often
unexpected
that writing a poem is no different to me
than being psychoanalyzed
it exposes
makes raw reality
compels me to search my soul
to find things buried
deep within
it requires I sacrifice little parts of me
carved off and hidden within each poem
the words I share with the world
lay me open
before those who wish to unearth
the secrets
poetry also requires that I take those words
and turn them around
create new realities
envision worlds within worlds
so that the pieces of me I sew into them
are a part of those places
forever
d’Verse’s Ars Poetica this week has us writing poetry about poetry. I’ve already written about poets, but here’s one about the writing itself.
OneWord: backspace
you backspace through your words
but it doesn’t erase them from existence
you only prevent me from knowing them
but it doesn’t erase the thought from being
“Profane”
(un)invited visitors
standing just below the summit
watching as indigenous people perform sacred rites,
rituals elaborated as entertainment.
offerings served to an ancient goddess
spoil upon a stone altar bedecked with bright flags
tied with string
painted with runic writing
their significance lost to an audience
of outsiders,
demons come to sully the intentions
of the devoted.
Written in response to The Sunday Whirl’s Wordle 56, which gave us the words “string – goddess – sacred – demons – elaborated – rituals – flags – visit – intentions – indigenous – summit – significance” and encouraged us to try to use them all. I managed it! Go and see who else did, won’t you?
No Good, Goodbye
Words whispered to free you
become bladed boomerangs
turning their deadly carelessness upon me
in seeking silence I find none
only careless, callous chatter
violent vitriol intended only to harm
to maim, to wound.
There will be no more words
no more thoughts, no more feelings.
No longer will I waste my time
seeking solace where none can be given.
I will not tread
softly or savagely
across this dismal desert, this dire dream.
my words are alive 