Lonnie Hicks

Freshman - 828 Points (www.lonniehicks.com / Chicago Ill)

A Linguini - Poem by Lonnie Hicks

I am the pronoun prisoner;
'I '
the letter's very shape
is a single bar;
many taken together
my prison make,
all lined up in a single poem-
sometimes too many.

We has the 'w'
open-ended to the sky
posture of the supplicant
all together taken
are the congregation praying.

Me has the 'm' all battened down
closed to further input
and scrutiny-
reminds me of soldiers
off to war; 5th battalion.

The'u' in us
is my favorite symbol,
reminds me of home.
a wonderful image,
a fire place,
a cord of wood nearby.

Each letter I think
is part of the art,
little sculpture pieces
which added up
contain meaning
transmitted linguistically.

For me, of course, poetically.
there's nothing better conjugated
than a wonderful poem,
given and received.

If these shapes
on paper
convey short and long term
ideas, and feelings,
then I am content
to worship them
in their paper-based cathedrals.

So drawn my eye
so touched my soul
by word miens and countenances
it must be for me
a form of language-love-
good thing
for a poet to have;
like children on a page playing,
we tend to watch them there
Love, Pride and Anxiety
all in the mix conveyed.

Language is the arching sky
under which this all plays,
the linguistic linguini
we serve ourselves
for sustenance
night and day;
expanding and limiting
all we think or say;
revealing and concealing.

Words, and meanings are like play,
Excuse me while I Capitalize;
but lower case seems humbler
(ode to ee cummings)
but, then one can OverThink
any thing
and end up with mere wonder.
that goes no where,
has no second set.

But, again-
here the double guess;
language facilitates and confounds
something animals I think
know nothing of
cursed or blessed you think?

Still, it is all we have to communicate meanings.
Language is there at birth,
there at death,
weddings, war and famine.
With it we intermingle,
mute or loud,
our feelings.
We cannot be who we are
or are not
without it.

Needs and deeds are acted out
but, are mute until language intervenes.
Any powerful deed does not exist
if it goes unrecorded,
to a generation it is lost
to time

But add to it heroic words
or language colorful or condemning,
each deed is immortalized
introduced to each generation;
never-ending; culture-fused.

What magic here!
What wonder is this
to make pronouns and adverbs
the ultimate form
of word-play and human alchemy;
deed to word form genuine gold,
learning, generations, culture.
No, there is art here too
language art,
representational and otherwise;
the wonder of it
all living underneath
the mind's fine canopy.

Oh, watch next time
your 'P's and 'Q's'
Scrutinize their shape,
place them ever so gently upon
that lovingly written page.

No small deed here,
no greater responsibility;
this by the way
does to me
smell like linguini.

Learn to play-
Language is good for you.

Good Bye.
Humm...notice how the 'G' seems to wave.
Ah, maybe it's only Me.

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, October 12, 2008

Poem Edited: Friday, January 22, 2010

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