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, November 20, 2011

My Solitary Self: Poem


My Solitary Self

I asked my solitary self, shy, splendid and sad
What to do wth the rest of my life;
My solitary self, debating with being and existing
And unravelling sundry strife.

My solitary self, aloof at times
Decided to ask my soul when and where
My brain and body could join in
And finally all griefs to share.

Wisdom, wherever it lies,
Perplexed by this intellectual discussion
Asked my solitary self to flee
All complicated abnegation.

So, alone with my solitary self,
Again I let my mind wander winsome and wild;
Slowly walking on mile after mile:
And then I saw my solitary self smile.

Copyright: Rani Turton

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