Words Won, point One.
I work so hard
to marry words -
and worry them into something more than worn out phrases.
To bend them so they match the moment,
and the measured cadence of my heart.
And then I hear this man -
distinguished -
famous!
And he spouts some simple phrases out
that call for nothing more than a brief look
at the Sunday paper for inspiration!
I must wonder, then, what I am doing Here?
Why pay this Penance -
Why try so hard to work mean words into song.
Into…transcendence.
To rise above mediocrity, and beyond me.
Why should I, for want of some way to stop myself,
Seek to string phrases that actually reach for aether air,
Or phrases built with words
meant to bear the Reader out onto the Clouds.
Today, the World turns upon its sorry self,
and breeds poets with no more imagination
than a couple of pieces of worn out gum wrapper!
Why should I be different?
If today’s Laureate is wasteful,
and his words are hard to hear,
Then why should I exert myself to twists
and turns of phrase.
Better to just wish Him Well,
then turn my head,
and Bind my ears!
If only I could.…
Words Won, point Deux.
I work so hard
to marry words -
Worry them into something more than worn out phrases,
To bend them,
so they match the moment,
and the measured cadence of my heart.
Small wonder, then, that when I hear this man -
distinguished -
famous.
spout out some simple phrases out
that call for nothing more than a quick look at the Sunday paper -
I wonder…
What am I doing Here?
What Force commands me to pay this penance -
What compulsion wants me to wind words
into strings that sing, or into phrases meant to taste the aether air.
Why transcend the real world?
This rough and ragged world
that turns upon its sorry self,
and breeds poets with no more imagination
than an unopened dictionary.
If the Laureate is wasteful,
and his words are hard to hear.
Shall I wish Him Well and praise him,
or turn my head,
and Bind my ears!
And, if I do,
then who Cares, but me?
Is the world less rich?
Is one mind less likely to excel.
Who knows!
Words Won, L’originale.
I work so hard
to marry words -
Make them bend to match my moment,
and my heart.
And then I hear this man -
distinguished -
famous.
And he spouts some simple phrases out
that call for nothing more than a hasty look at the Sunday paper for inspiration!
What am I doing Here?
What penance makes me wish to turn mean words
into sentences that sing songs to rise beyond me -
Taste aether air, and raise me
into worlds made for imagination,
and for dreaming deeply while the world turns upon its sorry self.
And if I try -
If I worry words for something more than worn out phrases,
who Cares?
Who Cares!
If the Laureate is wasteful,
and his words are hard to hear -
Shall we wish Him Well and praise him,
or turn our heads,
and Bind our ears!