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
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Wherever You Are: Poem
Wherever You Are
Wherever you are, hear my call
Not more than a whisper, I dare not speak loud.
There were ages and epochs
The world has seen historical times
My head and heart have been filled with other emotions;
Mine, only mine.
The power of wishing, longing and yearning
Surely can cast magical spells
Can move the furtherest cloud
Can with a caress cause the earth to sprout
No, I cannot shout.
Wherever you are, if it comes to mind
The barely spoken secrets, the unbidden tears
Come then, and wipe away all these fears.
Copyright: Rani Turton
Labels:
love poem,
power os wishing,
secrets,
tears,
wherever you are,
whisper
Friday, July 17, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
So Acute Was My Loneliness: Poem
So Acute Was My Loneliness
.
Cobbled stones, not dust.
So acute was my loneliness that dream I must.
Escapism was a flight from dreary realism.
..
If roam I must, if chains I must break
Alone, in this pebble-strewn destiny
My happiness I must fake.
.
So acute was my loneliness that home was far
Too far; too far and distant my loved ones and my thoughts
That in that black cosmic wilderness even the North Star
Seemed close enough to touch. That even my words
Seemed transparent and tinted with Orientalism
Cobbled stones, not dust.
So acute was my loneliness that dream I must.
Escapism was a flight from dreary realism.
..
If roam I must, if chains I must break
Alone, in this pebble-strewn destiny
My happiness I must fake.
.
So acute was my loneliness that home was far
Too far; too far and distant my loved ones and my thoughts
That in that black cosmic wilderness even the North Star
Seemed close enough to touch. That even my words
Seemed transparent and tinted with Orientalism
.
So distant and cold, so empty my worlds.
So acute was my loneliness even the poems would not come
The words fled, the streets wet, a spectre I had become
My memories tinged with the bitter things I had done
.
All alone. When dawns touched my lids after fitful sleep
I had resolved never, never to weep
However deep the pain. However acute the pain
The sun would shine tomorrow and I would become myself again.
.
Copyright: Rani Turton
So distant and cold, so empty my worlds.
So acute was my loneliness even the poems would not come
The words fled, the streets wet, a spectre I had become
My memories tinged with the bitter things I had done
.
All alone. When dawns touched my lids after fitful sleep
I had resolved never, never to weep
However deep the pain. However acute the pain
The sun would shine tomorrow and I would become myself again.
.
Copyright: Rani Turton
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
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