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, December 6, 2009

When A Woman Goes To Pieces: Poem


When a Woman Goes To Pieces

When a woman goes to pieces
Hysteria and fragility are often evoked
When a man goes to pieces
Its often just workload.

The opposite can also be true.
If a woman tells her mate
I'm going to pieces he'll tell her
'Get yourself together,
Or soon it'll be too late'.


A woman is rarely alone when she wants to be,
In times of acute personal misery.
But alas when she doesn't want to be
People become rare in their scarcity.


So social fronts and smiling facades
Busy workers and perfect mothers
Mill around busy shopping arcades


What if a woman has the right to say
Please just leave me alone for today?

Copyright: Rani Turton

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