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, June 12, 2011

Mind, Losing Control: Poem



Mind, Losing Control

Mind, losing control, asking why.
Mind, wandering from hemisphere to hemisphere
And trying to find a place
A kind of santuary.

Disturbed and often weary.
Eroded by life's wear and worry.
Mind, losing control, fatigued
Strumming the strings and softly singing

Of life's lonesome starlit trek;
Of scorching sunlit trails:
Of eclipes on moonlit nights
Of bards, emperors, and knights

Of the toil and tears and all those years
Trying to be and become; of wanting,
Waiting,  and wishing when
The body was still young

Mind, losing control, asking
Why the fire dims and embers at times
Want to blaze bright and consume
The ideas, the desires and the poetic rhymes?

Copyright: Rani Turton

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