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


Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Forgetting, But Not Forgotten

Forgetting But Not Forgotten

Trite phrases galore
Memory plays tricks with time
Mirages that with the years
Made believe what was unreal.

If I had thought I would have lived so long
Or come to this sad sorry pass
I guess I would have said-pass
But time trickled on
Like sand in the hourglass

There's a perpetual reason to go through the years
Amazing as it may well seem
Some think its destiny
And others a form of being free

And here in the midst of modernity
What is the belief that keeps people scurrying
Jumping running sprinting panting

Living lives that build and build
Mushroom clouds, and you and me and them
And women free and unfree
Walls that are higher and higher

Time, pass me by please
Leave me against this old stone wall
Just leave me be.

Copyright Rani Turton 2008

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