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


Sunday, January 12, 2014

Oh, Melancholy: Poem


Oh, Melancholy
Oh, Melancholy
You almost tempted me
On wet city streets, in grey city nights
To trust uncaring strangers
Yes, those city knights.

Oh, Melancholy, you are my love
I have walked, talked and sung to you; 
Years and years have gone by.
Melancholy: I was savage and shy.

One day I waited near the river
I saw you pass by on the bridge.
You were all I had ever dreamed of
Me, walking on the river's edge.

I almost lost, ever in love, but
Never, never really wise; 
Lost in romantic dreams, 
I wished to believe in your passionate lies.

When I saw you walking by
On the bridge, your face in shadow
I knew then, you would always
Follow me, go where I go.

Touch me with soft, gentle hands
And often take my pain
Letting me believe that
You could dissolve it in the city rain.

That you would speak to me
And I would for once understand: 
My emotions would surge
As we walked on hand in hand.

Years later now, I still have you
In every shadow, mirror, poetic line
Oh, Melancholy, you know
You will always be mine, only mine.

Copyright: Rani Turton 

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