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Saturday, 12 February 2011

My Words

the page
pure white

white as driven snow -
until I laid my marks

the words
like awkward footprints

black
and muddy

trailed across it
line on line

always in the same direction
never coming back



where am I now?
and did I then
desert my words?

leave them in the cold
alone
to die
fend for themselves?

They have to make their way...
or not

it is the law
so be it then

15 comments:

Mr. Philoctetes Digressius aka L. E. McKenna said...

Damn, that's sad. Of course, you're making us think of our children . . . I would say it takes a lot of faith, but I don't exactly believe it . . . I think it takes resignation . . . there's just no other way around it, and so you hitch your pants up and walk on . . . Nice poem (although I have to say that my favorite one so far was the one a few posts back with the image of the trees waving at us; very nice)

Jim Murdoch said...

This reminds me of one I wrote a few years ago:

      The Truth Behind All Poems

      This was
             a blank sheet
             of paper before
             I did this to it.

      Footprints
             in the snow
             mean next to nothing.
      Learn to read between

             the lines.
      Kids get it.
      They know exactly
             what to do when they

             gaze through
             that window:
             there’s no place for
             perfection in an

             imperfect world.


Saturday, 16 July 2005

Helen said...

Another 'Dave Original' ... resonating deeply.

The Weaver of Grass said...

Food for thought here Dave. For some reason, and I don;t quite know why, the poem reminds me of an old saying:

Three things never return -
the spent arrow,
the spoken word,
the lost opportunity.

Kay said...

I like what The Weaver of Grass quoted... perfect fit for your imagery...

so much so that my short attention span has completely deviated from whatever it was that I was going to comment...

hmph.

i like it though. :)

Tumblewords: said...

Wonderful. As read literally, it hums to writers and metaphorically, it is so true of life!

Rachel Fenton said...

"They have to make their way...or not" so very true.

Kass said...

So glad your words are able to make their way to me and sift and settle into that warm, appreciative place.

David Cranmer said...

Very nice, Dave. I like the lonely image.

Dave King said...

Mr. Philoctetes Digressius aka L. E. McKenna
Hi, you've given me a morsel or two on which to chew, you have! I do think you've got a point with your resignation. And another nice point: how much is it necessary to believe the words you read - or write? I am much cheered by your remark about liking the one with the trees that waved to us. Thanks for all your remarks.

Jim
Very enjoyable, your poem. Glad I hadn't known it beforehand - it might have influenced me unduly. Thanks for putting it up, though.

Helen
Encouraging as always. Thanks.

Weaver of Grass
Yes, that gel somehow, though I don'y think I ever heard it before now. Strange ways these words behave!

Kay
I sympathise. I recognise that state of affairs very well indeed! Thanks.

Tumblewords
It pleases me that you were able to read it literally.

Rachel
Surprising, perhaps, how often they do!

Kass
So am I kass, so am I. Thanks for the cheery comment.

David
Ah, a kindred spirit!

Totalfeckineejit said...

I like this one Dave!

Karen said...

Nice, Dave. Sometimes I leave the words; sometimes they leave me. Unfortunately, the latter is usually the case.

Carl said...

Very nice Dave.

Rose said...

Brilliant poem! It reminds me of the quote 'a poem is never finished it is merely abandoned'. Good stuff!

Dave King said...

Totalfeckineejit
Thanks, much appreciated.

Karen
I think we all know that moment. Frustrating!

Carl
Grateful thanks.

Rose
I think that's very true. That is, it's sure true for me!