The Wordsmith
On the soul's shorelineI walk slowly, head down,
Beachcombing for
Lost words,
Throw-away lines,
Mangled metaphors,
Split infinitives,
Arcane adjectives,
Gnarled nouns,
Valedictory verbs,
Any scrap speech,
Any lexical litter,
And what I find I keep
In my cranial crucible,
Waiting for a spark
Of creativity to ignite
The tinder of imagination,
And once the fire is lit
I melt down the precious
Building blocks of Babel,
And let the linguistic liquid
Run, run, run, run
Into my mouth-mould
From where out pours
Gold gerunds
Platinum prose
Silver spiel
Copper codes
Brass banter
Iron irony
Steel sentences
Tin testimony
Words are my mettle,
I am a wordsmith.
Chris Fernie, 2006
Poetry by Chris Fernie
Read 586 times
Written on 2006-10-22 at 13:06
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Nagamuthu Osho |
Rob Graber |
Kathy Lockhart |