Words And Wordsmiths Poem by Denis Martindale

If, as poets, we set the words free,
it's only because we captured them first,
dragged them from dictionaries,
sploshed them ink-wise upon each page,
let them dry there unhindered,
let them nestle into the porous surface,
then continued, leaving them unedited...

We control their worldwide presence,
we conduct the final orchestration,
set in motion each and every emotion,
utilise all our memories for one purpose,
to create something new and noteworthy,
else why bother in the now and next attempt?

If, as wordsmiths, we set the words in place,
then we can remove or move each word around,
change its location, reposition, lock it down,
we can punctuate, form phrases, manipulate,
fashion themes from dreams half dreamt,
switch present thoughts like changing trains,
swoop down upon one word, spell it differently,
create consistency, or let it meander to-and-fro,
or let it sprinkle itself like winsome fairy dust...

For if we, as masters, set words as slaves,
making them do our bidding, obey our wants,
then we, as writers, will bear responsibilities,
beyond the here and now, for all eternity...
such is the destiny of our dedication, our art,
that each heart must reflect on words writ,
shared in the fulness of time, released, forever...

And if there be some reward that God apportions,
then stand up straight, ready to reach forward,
to hold each crown, each laurel of one's glory
and should these be all, then hold fast to these,
yet if you, meeting strangers in that yonder Paradise,
become blessed for all your pure and precious prose,
their words will be both fair and true, without guile,
enough to make you smile each time you cared...

So it is written, so it shall be done...


Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2013.