A C T C - 2014/10 - Non-Competing Late Entry Poem by Brian Johnston

A C T C - 2014/10 - Non-Competing Late Entry

Rating: 5.0

Winged Words
By Valsa George

Like a creature hibernating in its burrow
Waiting to come out with the first verdure of spring
The seed of a poem lay dormant in my heart
Through the long winter awaiting another spring

After staying torpid inside for long
At a time I expected it the least
Timidly came out the first word
As shaky as a calf getting up for the first time

Then another came and word after word in a row
Like pellets of rain on the window pane
I boiled them in the crucibles of my imagination
And finally dipping them in the ocean of my emotions

But rhyme came to set constraints
For the right alignment I struggled
I had to decide on its texture and format
Pondered if it should be a sonnet or an ode

I might have kept the door open for long
Alas! All my words and fancies flew away
Like birds taking on wings into the sky
From a cage where they were imprisoned for long

I stood so helpless with my mouth shut
Staring blankly out into the airy nothing
Like one lost in the doorway of his own threshold
Unable to call back those winged words lost in the void

Thursday, November 6, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: Poetry
Webmaster's Notes:
Reprinted here with the permission of the author, this poem is a wonderful example of just the kind of entry I was looking for... Great job Valsa!

I personally get lost Valsa in the humility of your writing, for you are such an accomplished poet and the words of your poems are like beautiful butterflies penned in the frame of your mind's composition, the beauty of one word contributing to the growing perfection of the next. Like Daniel Brick, I do not mourn the loss of these 'winged words' for it seems clear that their flight really cleared the way for you to beautifully mourn their loss. That hardly counts as a loss at all does it?

It's more like you are going to get into your car (your poem) and realize suddenly that the keys are still in the house. The keys are not lost, nor is the car. Both await your full attention and will carry you faithfully along the path of your imagination when you are truly ready. For the poet I believe, all paths are equal, even if not equally acclaimed by the world. The words of your imagination are forever yours and only await your command.

'Timidly came out the first word
As shaky as a calf getting up for the first time'

What a beautiful way to describe the new life that begins in the first words of a poem. Our poems do tremble with life that they borrow from us!
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