JT (June 4th,1961...Gemini / Bronx, New York)

A Whittle Of Words...

A Whittle of Words...
Sitting, slumped in a chair,
On a wooden porch
And under the sun
That, moving slowly, like a brushfire,
Across this steamy afternoon,
Burns the underbrush, the dead, twisted leaves,
Of my depressed thoughts,
That leaves an open clearing.

With nothing done and nothing left to do!

I am absorbed by this moment
And open to each one that trails after:
All, reoccuring shapes in nature;
Echoes of the same first sound
Come from the whittling of mere words,
like a piece of wood;
Its shavings, fall to the ground

As so many crumpled pieces of paper.

It is in the shaping, the carving,
The very paring down of the fat;
That the art, itself, disappears.
And the value of nothing remains
In the palm of my red, overworked hands:

And it is this gesture, an open hand, all that I, humbly, extend to you...


John T Tansey 06/10/07

Copyright ©2008 John Thomas Tansey 

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 2 votes ) 3

Comments (3)

loved the imagery and the poem was very well written. kudos to you -kathryn
wow a nice one this touched my heart 'As so many crumpled pieces of paper.' ++++++10 goes to my fav list regards anju
It is in the shaping, the carving, The very paring down of the fat; That the art, itself, disappears. I could ponder on this for a while, wondering... did it disappear, or was it perhaps revealed for having been unnecessary clutter cut away from it? If this be the outcome of the exercise, I'd have to go with the latter, actually. Keep wittling - surely there's more 'in there' waiting to be unearthed. Christine