Sticky Words

Pull a little word from out your pocket,

The one that’s tucked away that you can’t say,

The sticky one, the one with fuzz bits on it,

The one you kept and snuck it well away,

The one that when you see it, on appraisal,

Looks a lot like rubbish to your mind,

Rinse it off and look again, might notice,

It’s the one you lost and tried so hard to find.

That sticky word, adrift in secret places,

Diamond in the rough, a gem concealed,

Searched for, sought and needed, once unheeded,

That’s the one that could be, should be, new revealed.

Sticky words, I know them, they spell trouble,

Trouble while they’re lost in tiny holes,

Found, they are a gift, a grace regranted,

Sticky words can unstick word-stuck souls.

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Across Thresholds

There are words that we recall,

their promise fleeting,

veil, once lifted, vanished

as intent,

mercurial, they missed their capture,

meaning

lost in moments’ madness

though well-meant.

There are words we’ve never heard that speak

more truly,

caught in throats, in hearts,

that rarely vent,

carried in that meditation,

duly

transmitting more

than all sound ever spent.

There are times the nothing speaks

a thousand voices,

meanings pluralised,

sublimely sent,

demystified, these murmurs,

among noises,

drowning out, in muted,

letters lent.

There are words we sometimes wish

we’d never uttered,

some there are we wonder

why we heard,

as those that find their way,

in silence stuttered,

cross thresholds,

sublimating word for word.

Intermittent Signals

Wildly erratic

Signals less than optimum

Reboot, pause, begin.

---

Low expectations

Adversarial boxes

Disconnect, restart.

---

 Lost plaintive pleading

Alternative communion

Speech to ears from tongue.

---

Possible answers

Impossible questioning

Wrapped in packets dropped.

No Choice

So you silence the world

With most vocal of voice,

The briefest communion,

No control, so much noise,

But the pleasure and pain

Are writ once again

In the words

And the feelings

By the heart

With no choice.

Bring Them Home

Reaching out to others is a burden I can’t half,

Though it’s laudable, it’s laughable,

As if my concern lasts

Way beyond the slightest

Of your needs,

As if I fit,

Laughable,

Truly,

Beyond, in fact,

Really,

Think of it.

That one such one

As me or you,

Such a tiny voice in all,

Should make the slightest difference.

Insignificant withal.

Yet the someone,

Maybe not me,

In fact, the chance is slim,

But someone,

Someone close or far,

Some she

Or maybe him,

Bequeaths the words,

That gust of air,

That treasured little drop,

That tiny, teensy something

That urges, do not stop.

Be the voice,

The shouting one,

The silent, but for tone,

The something

Just for someone

That may bring that someone home.

Daubs Deployed

Whispers echo still, enlighten’d darkness,

Linger, longing, found in cyberspace,

Heard beyond all planetary, winsome,

I hear them then I picture words and face.

Whispers rise up, somehow are converted,

Awesomely configured, rendered, changed,

I can’t conceive of how a brain invented

Ways to alter speech, so rearranged.

I guess it started with some daubs on cave walls,

Grunts to graphics, pics for history,

Some cuneiform and hieroglyphs translating

Thoughts to page awaiting you and me,

Some ink pens then, calligraphy, that beauty,

Painstaking effort, patient and adorned,

Greek, Semitic, Arabic and Chinese

Marks upon some parchment to inform.

I’m thinking then of smoke and drums and phone calls

And telegraphs that sped the process on,

Who knew that one day someone could encrypt so

And fire words to ether coded, formed.

Thinking typewriters, TV and now Skyping,

Measures that foreclose the distance, space,

So techy I can barely understand it

But glad still that the progress had its place.

I’m putting down my pen now, words on paper,

Typing from the symbols, thoughts to all,

Sending code still daubed, deployed as little pictures,

Some abstracted, etched forever on my cavern’s wall.

Formatting

You can be right here,

where I am,

with words that barely censor

who we are,

Pictures wrought and writ

ensure a presence,

as eloquent as spoken,

though afar.

I can be there,

right where you are,

in a crazy coded heartbeat,

transmission of the vowels

caught in consonants, combined,

Transference of all thought

in letter’d format,

Bringing close together

hearts and minds.

 

Reservoirs

In the pen,

reservoirs of blood and reason,

sheathed the sword,

woven, covert shroud and hate-paled mask,

Fight the fight

with the ink that flows, risks treason,

drips and drops of love

from reservoirs to task.

Turn the tides

as moonbeams in the ether

on golden pond a liquid glow

from crimson ink,

Reverse the falls,

fill channels, churn the waters,

from reservoirs of pens 

filled to the brink.

New Year, New Hope, All Hail

All hail the revolution that may flourish

When actions, thought, intentions coincide,

A passion plea for peace to nurture, nourish,

Revolution of the minds burst open wide.

A global epidemic of proportions,

Pandemic thus, reliant on the means,

Communicable by communication,

Reticulated, networking at the seams.

Where once upon a dreamscape we envisaged

Peace alignment, massive in its scale,

Let words and actions make the global village,

We can do this, yes, believe, we can prevail.

Wishing you all a peaceful and hope-filled New Year.

May we flourish as one humanity.

Anne-Marie x

Words in Waiting

All the words are there

Sitting alphabetically, waiting.

Still waiting.

Idle.

Ho hum, ho hum, ho hum.

Bored,

Feeling Useless,

Neglected,

Knowing their Importance in the Big Book

And Scheme of Things.

Wisdom Nods to Sense,

Kindness to Reason,

Compassion Shakes its Head at Heart,

Respect Sits Patiently,

Too Patiently,

While Nonsense, Fear and Spin

Twist and Turn,

Overused,

Abandoning Courtesy,

Justice and Fairness.

Dictionary Lost, Ripped up,

Sold to the Highest Bidder.

Redraft,

Reprint.

Publish or Be Damned.

 

Born of a conversation in comments this morning with Richard.