Weaving Words

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Weaving Words

 

(The Poet’s Calling)

 

I wander my world 
weaving words into verse
plaiting my thoughts 
into silken skeins of sense
rendering images
from my mind’s eye
to this digital paper
perverse perception
lending life to poetry
lust to hope 
and love to mon amour
the written word. 

Only in time
with wish fulfilment
perchance my dreams
will meet my expectations 
and produce that meisterwerk
whose impetus
drives me on

 

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‘A Word is Dead’ . . . Emily Dickinson

[  # 95 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

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A Word is Dead

by Emily Dickinson


A word is dead

When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

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One of the shortest poems I know, yet I find it so powerful, so wise.   Words need to be heard, to be read, to be said,  above all perhaps they need to be used.  In its brevity, Emily Dickinson uses them so carefully here and yet prompting further thought with the depth of their meaning.  Words used in a poem do take flight as the reader is led to consider their meaning further.

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Portmanteau Words

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PORTMANTEAU WORDS

A portmanteau word is created by combining the meanings and blending the sounds of two other words.  Examples would be: motel, brunch, fortnight, podcast,

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‘Word Cloud’ . . . WHB – Aug.2018

Portmanteau words
concocted words
constructed words
New words
coming thick and fast
many do not last
We make them up
to suit our theme
not always too regarding
of meaning
but on the whole
our goal
With feeling
and maybe a sigh
we do try
no pretext
to fit the context
to fit
each new bit
sometimes with wit
into its new-found place
The recipe
melded
mixed
formula followed
dictionary cooked
tentatively tested
purposefully published
Recipe redeemed . . .

To give new birth
take one that’s old
be creative
and be bold
Join to another
to meet your purpose
Go on. Do it.
Don’t be nervous

Many a word has found its use 
however obtuse
even abstruse
by being concocted
from two others
Just as two ecstatic lovers
might join together in coition
and with their lack of inhibition
bring new life into fruition
produce new offspring
for a lark
for the hell of it
for effect
in joy
in desperation

Let inspiration
no hesitation
concoct the term
generate the meaning

Old parents
new child
birth
to a new word

 

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Words as Birds

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WORDS as BIRDS

 

as do birds
words fly

fluttering
hovering
singing
warbling

dull or exotic
cumbersome or succinct
tender or abrupt
yet so high
their sky

carrying
with their wings aflame
both sonority and meaning
their tone surging
from plangent to plaintive
from joyous to rhapsodic

gliding in grace
with forethought and intention
swooping with wit
dipping their wingtips
in pools of light
or in puddles of mud

careless words
trailing doubt
words with a conscience
trilling
swooping
in the summer sun
skimming the surface of reason
dipping to their trees
to rest
to roost
when evening is done

nesting with the need for growth
mating when the time is ripe
breeding as the notion is defined
fledging offspring true to type
nurturing meaning under their wing

always bearing
cushioned within their feathered breasts
for those who care to discover
their true strength
wings beating to pronounce
their significance
the revelation of their truth
the essence of their existence

 

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The Borderlands of POETRY – 4

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POETRY AS DREAM

 

Poetry is my life revealed,
For there, in depth of thought,
Lie all my hopes, my dreams expressed
In words intense and tightly wrought.

Exploring what I hardly know,
Seeking as though dreaming,
I struggle to define my life,
Grasping for more meaning.

The confines of experience
I venture to pursue,
Defining life and love and death,
Their meaning to construe.

And when I’ve sifted every thought,
Mined the deepest seams,
I feel I’ve drained my Muse’s well,
Finding only dreams.

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Chocolate Words

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CHOCOLATE WORDS

I love words
in the way
I love chocolate.
Their lingering taste
Their whispering style
They way they trip off
Slip off
the tongue
Words to bear in mind
Leaving such pleasures behind

And always
That thrill
That musical trill
That sensuous sound
Discarding meaning
But leaving
feeling
The desire for more
Encore
The poet’s drug-store
Treasure Island

I’d like a word with you
A word in your ear
Shakespeare
So I’ll be wordy-wise too
Will
take  some words
and run with them

I heard a word
One day in May
I heard it say
Come here and play
So undeterred
A word occurred
Third word
The word purred
Absurd word
‘Twas mockingbird
Northern Mockingbird
Mimus polyglottos
glottal stop
or “glo’al stop”

You see where it can take me
Tangential thought
Verbiage onslaught
Overwrought
Logorrhoea
Here, here!

Words abound
Words of wisdom
Words of truth
Their singing sound
stirred, blurred, slurred,
So play on words
Herds of words
Let their joy sing
and let them bring
Creation’s wellspring
and thus … let the welkin ring

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Books Do Not Die . . .

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Books, do not die

{ A paean to Books }

 

Books, do not die,
You bring me such joy;
I’ve dwelt in your pages
Since I was a boy.

Books, do not die,
You are humble yet proud,
Bringing solace and hope,
The sun through the cloud.

Books, do not die.
Your warmth and your grace,
Your wisdom and charm,
I clutch and embrace.

Books, do not die,
You have smell, you have taste.
Your very presence
Will not go to waste.

Books, do not die,
Your existence delights
You see me through
Those long dark winter nights

Books do not die,
My dreams you renew;
You offer escape,
I can’t live without you.

Books, Do not die;
Do not burn, Or expire.
Life blood of words,
Procreate and inspire.

 

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Roger McGough – ‘Poem for a dead poet’

(No.63 of my favourite short poems)

I have published one of Roger McGough’s poem previously in this series.  You will find it by clicking on this link:   ‘Vinegar’ . . .   Below is another of his poems which I very much enjoy, this time a short elegy for an unnamed poet.  Written in a simplistic style, the poem nevertheless, with both wit and precision, goes straight to the heart of what a poet does and what s/he seeks to be.

Poets Corner

‘Poem for a dead poet’

He was a poet he was.

A proper poet.

He said things

that made you think

and said them nicely.

He saw things

that you or I

could never see

and saw them clearly.

He had a way

with language.

Images flocked around

him like birds.

St. Francis, he was,

of the words. Words?

Why he could almost make ‘em talk.

 

Roger McGough

 

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CRICKET

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© ‘ The Cricket Match’ … Pen & Wash – WHB – March 2017

 

CRICKET

Roll up, Roll up
And buy your ticket
Rejoice and thrill
At the game of CRICKET

Bowlers bowl
Fielders field
Batsmen bat
Never yield

Keepers keep
And catchers catch
All this happens
In a cricket match

Strikers strike
And hitters hit
Sloggers slog
Lickety-split

Floaters float
Beamers beam
Chuckers chuck
While seamers seam

Umpires umpire
Scorers score
Strikers strike
Can’t ask for more

Spinners spin
Sledgers sledge
Captains captain
At the cutting edge

Drivers drive
And blockers block
Bouncers bounce
Eye on the clock

Grafters graft
And Hackers hack
Hookers hook
Better stand back

Openers open
Swingers swing
Sweepers sweep
‘Cos that’s their thing

Oft played upon
A sticky wicket
Best sport of all
The game of CRICKET


 

As in all sports, cricket has over its long history built up a long list of specialist vocabulary, or jargon.  I have attempted to incorporate some of this specialist language in my verses.

My pen and wash painting is of a scene at the Heathcoat Cricket Club in Mid-Devon.
The game of cricket has been played on this ground since the late 19th Century. 

The ground itself is one of the few to be found actually within the grounds of a National Trust property – that of Knightshayes Court , in the village of Bolham, near Tiverton.

 


 

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A Pretty Ditty

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A  PRETTY DITTY


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Yes, dear, of course,
You’re the source
Of my discourse

And I really do fear
That if you were not near
Then I wouldn’t be here

But you said I can’t write
So to prove you weren’t right
I really just might

Have a go at a poem
‘Cos I”m no protozoan
Much more Leonard Cohen

So I say to you, darling,
I won’t be alarming

Instead I’ll be charming

I’ll write you a ditty
Both witty and gritty
Decidedly pithy.

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So, what is a ditty?
… Tell the committee
It’s got to be pretty!

Not any old dirge,
Or nonsensical splurge
Would most likely emerge.

And no sort of verse,
However terse
Or completely perverse
Could possibly be worse.

… SO, HERE GOES …

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It’s a pity
When a ditty
Isn’t witty

It’s a shame
When a dame
Gets the blame

It’s absurd
When a bird
Can’t be heard

And it’s sad
When a lad
Turns out bad

When a boy
Full of joy
Becomes coy

Tell me why
You don’t try
To comply

Why disguise
All those lies
I despise

I can tell
You’re not well
When you yell

It is said
Lose your head
You’ll be dead

Do not sigh
That is why
I will try

You will  find
When you’re kind
I won’t mind.

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So your disdain I pre-empt,

Can I now be exempt?

With this brave attempt

I’ll risk your contempt.

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