ARTISAN OF WORDS


I am an artisan of words
Which I sculpt, chisel and fashion the way I can;
I am a creator of worlds;
I pour my emotion into the poems I write.
I breathe life into them, blow them skywards
And finish them only when they sound right.

These remnants of thought without reason
Will remain on pages season after season
Long after I'm gone; when my task is done
The love, the longing, the pain
Will be evoked then by somebody else
Who in turn will remember and write again
To create another slow soft song
That people can read and draw into their hearts
Then pillowed by words, cushioned by dreams
My poems will ride high the moonbeams.


Copyright: Rani Turton 2007


Wednesday, August 20, 2008

The Silent Lane

My eyes on that door the silent lane beckons
My fingers scrape that door
Nobody opens it any more

My eyes brimming the silent lane beckons
Memories flow; how many have walked these old streets
And how many do not any more?

From the inner world of my own inner world
Comes the answers of despair
Comes the images of you there

Sunlight and silence, people pass me by
In the cavern of the past some of this will remain
The present is now free from pain.

Copyright 2008
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