from the poet and the word.

From the Poet


How can I
put truth upon the page
in ways
that will not lie
when others
who will read it
read it in their other ways?

I am conscious
that the sun and moon
look down to see
the words I cast,
to ascertain if
those words cast
a shadow down the page.

They should not worry,
knowing that I use
words two-
dimensional,
not being skilled
to write in three.
(2-D is shadowless, i'm told.)

But does a shadow's absence
equal truth? - Sun's truth
or the moon's?
Truth of day and night?
And when I have more skill,
shall I then write
with less fidelity?

My words
are open to the night,
were written in the day
and by its light;
can be construed,
therefore,
in either way.


From the Word

We find it difficult, these days.
There was a time when words like us
would know their given roles in life,
know their responsibilities,
what was expected - and demanded -
in a sentence or a phrase;
We knew exactly what we meant
(or meant to bring about)
and how we should behave.
I, for example, being I,
would know my place and place
myself befittingly
amongst my colleagues,
proud to represent
the author or the speaker to
the best of my ability.
It's true we've always morphed a bit -
I've done my share (we always called
it repositioning) across
the years. I've been a suffix, too,
and once or twice
a chemical abbreviation. Once I played
the part of a connective vowel.
A bit of fun, that's all. No one
got hurt. It's different now. Someone
the other day was saying how
we morph each time we go on duty.
Can you believe it? Reckons
he's postmodern (Like
that makes it right! Some hopes!),
reckons I could be a verb -
I ask you! Let them go
and I their egos! - that was his
example, but what sort of talk
is that? And then we get
those darned compilers
of some dictionary, laying off a load
of my old workmates. Blokes
and girls I've known and
worked with over years. Good
folk, the lot of them:
you'll know them well enough,
but out they went like so much junk: monk,
followed by some flower names, bishop,
aisle and empire, carol, monarch... all
for what? To let in some new tease
they've found around the web! Upstarts,
no more, like: broadband, google,
blog... whatever makes the Oxford
Junior seem sexy, I suppose.
Bah, Humbug to their sexy! Give
me back my frumpish friends! I'll take
them over Google any day!