Chiffonade

Culinary Arts school. French vocabulary. Sharp knives.

The Inner Writer September 1, 2010

Filed under: 1 — ronibird @ 9:01 am

I think up rich words–

Envision them falling neatly

Into place, these orderly herds

Sensing my inner wish and meekly

Doing as I bid, no protest

.

I see myself lay aside pen

Fingers marked black with ink

And sigh in satisfaction when,

Imagined readers sink

Into lines suddenly alive

.

In mind’s eye, words neatly slotted

Shift and blur on this parchment

They become a landscape dotted

With images to breathe fantasy, lent

Briefly.  Transport from the safe and sane.

.

Looking down on my work in hand

I resolutely write, rich words

They struggle, mustering to stand

In battle.  Free winging birds

They scatter and shatter my scene

.

With sighs, I observe my weary page

That traitor, mercenary army

Has conquered.  Cautious, I gauge

Their mood, with bribes lure back to me

These words, too brilliant to rule

.

I cannot neatly push in place

The wildness of imagery

That whirls behind my writer’s face

But fractious as all words may be

I still grasp this final symmetry.

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