Poem Hunter
SOM (A Thursday,1987 / Tiobraid Arann)


Poem By Seán O Muiríosa

Words, words that we feel,
they are omnipresent,
round and gripable
like a football perhaps
or large and crumbly
like mountainous boulders.
We shape them smooth
or rough, our own brand
unique and tough.

Each and every day
we are the moulders.
rising suns, igniting fires,
and melting ice,
poets stand proud -
we are the holders
of this priceless gift
in a world that thinks
it can buy anything.

Never dismiss the power
of the pen in your hand.
It creates light,
remarkable darkness
and innumerable
ventures in between.
Unicorns and golden
sunsets, powdered snow
perhaps in early May.

Poets stand proud,
and proclaim your gift
of words to the world.
Show them ferocity
and awe and wonder
like a great fork of white
lightning striking
a raging and ragged sea.
Strike hard, without fear.

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Comments (3)

' the word beat themselves against the insides of my skull- like frantic birds, caught inside a bell' you are a lovely composer of words my friend. Always, Amberlee
Well said Seán! And so all of us poets can stand proud reading this! Great write! HBH
What a great poem for poets everywhere to appreciate! Great job Sean. Sincerely, Mary