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.14) A Meditation On Words
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.14) A Meditation On Words

Domestic words
are yoked for work.
They will not
tell you secrets.

The wild breed
cannot be tamed.
They fly in forests
deep within.

But still the mind
and they appear.
They'll roost
right on the branches
of a page.

They sit awhile
and then fly off.
The type becomes
bare, winter trees.

But in the season
of quiet, they'll come again.

User Rating: 3,1 / 5 ( 4 votes ) 10

Comments (10)

I agree with G Murdock on the process. We need both the mild and wild ones when the time is right. Sometimes I get burned out on the same old words then something strange and/or vivid happens and the old words line up in a different way and less familiar words pop up off the bench, jumping up and down screaming, 'Put me in coach.'
It's just the way I feel, except that with me words fly off in the season of quiet and come back when my life seems out of kilter. A beautiful poem. I loved it. Julia
This was a treatise on the process of poetry. I enjoyed the way you blended the internal and external elements of nature...like an accomplished landscaper. Excellent rendering Max.
very true! i like this! u.
This is a very pleasurable poem to read, Max, I shall have to look for some 'quiet time' and see if inspiration comes to the fore. Thanks. Love Ernestine XXX
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