Oojamaflip

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On the trials of a would-be Poet . . . continued . . .

The words won’t come …
Oojamaflip
Is all that I can say
It fills a space
A hole in time
But I will have my day
My day when flow turns into flood 
And torrents can’t be held;
New words will rush – 
Nay, hush, they’ll gush.
 
More trees, no longer safe, will die
For inspiration 
Felled.
 
Is it for this the poet’s toil,
Denuding all those forests?
Did oojamaflip kill time and life
With its pointless blunted knife?
 
Or did I seek to spill my thoughts
Predicated on my fecund muse
Merely upon a whim –
A sense of knowing what to say
Without reason to say it? 
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NOTE: From the O.E.D.   … Like thingamabob or whatchamacallitoojamaflip (also spelled whojamaflip, hoojamaflip, etc.) is a word used to refer to something a person doesn’t know the name of, or doesn’t wish to specify precisely.   . . .
A word used when you can’t remember the word that you want to be saying.
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To Rhyme or Not to Rhyme?

I asked a question of my friend

It did not seem too hard.
I wished to know
What rhymes with word,
Hardly a question for the Bard.
He said he’d heard
Of nerd and turd,
And bird and curd and herd,
And even that rude French word merde
If I wished to be absurd.
I left him to his contemplation,
I could hardly ask for more.
Eight words were all that I could hope
Before he asked me what it’s for.
When I said I was averse
To omit a telling rhyme,
He said a verse was always worse
When forced into a line.
No doubt it’s true,
A poem is killed,
Its passion bled anew,
When thought proceeds without a nudge,
A kiss from me to you.
So, suitably dissuaded from
Forcing further rhyme,
I’ve downed my pen,
I don’t know when,
But, mouse among men,
I I’ll try again

… sometime.

Pleasure in a WORD

THROB

THROB

 

As I woke
a word arrived in my consciousness
unasked
unaided

… THROB …

short word
tripped from my dreams
tumbled through my lips
to spill its delight into the morning air

Dug
pleasurably
from my waking consciousness
as my tongue savoured its existence
rolled itself around both lips
and my mouth accommodated itself
to its cadence

Measuring Its measure
against my throat’s resonance
thrusting the sound
up and out
into the waiting
wondering
world
pleased to be out in the morning air
a thrill to emit
listening as it cuts
sensuously
with a flautist ‘s thrust 
through the sensuous surrounding air

The poet’s morning chorus
a sound to be repeated
joyously
with fervour
pleasurably
savouring its cadence

Repeated
it resounds in the room
lingering as it ends 
lingering as I make 
that final occlusion
voicing its
bilabial stop
strong
sensuous
evocative 
voluptuous in its warmth
flirtatious in its coquettishness

Onomatopoeic pleasure
so soulfully satisfying
in its sound-print

Its exultant cry of existence

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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 . . .

Books-DoNotDie

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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