Inconsequential Syllables Poem by Paul Hansford

Inconsequential Syllables

Rating: 2.4

The first cold letters, alone on the page.
A quick pencil found them,
and the lively and beautiful syllables blossomed.
The pale book felt the pencil
as the terrifying, hot words entered.
The lines grew, living and sensitive,
gleaming as never before,
and I knew the unheard lines!

First, a tiny and unselfconscious sound.
A noun struggled to appear among overpowering words.
A strong, golden adjective ran out,
a short, fragrant adjective, beautiful in the early spring.
A young verb grew among tiny blue conjunctions,
and a fortuitous adverb understood, instinctively.

The first sentence dreamed of trees, and a sad cloud.
It dreamed a grey rain,
and the tall trees felt the rain.
There was a first and unknown river,
imagined, inconsequential, like snow in summer.
A red bird glided beyond reach,
as if it had never happened.
The soft sounds fitted the lines,
and the quick bird cried,
Remember the short rain!
Remember the sad poem!

Lillian Thomas 01 August 2009

Very imaginative! And it captures the way poems are born sometimes in our heads, a word at a time, groping for others that ensnare the thoughts and feelings, seeking a sound that is both music and meaning. Thank you, Paul, this is one to treasure.

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Neil Young 06 July 2009

An excellent poem from an different point of view. Not a word out of place, clear, touching... Well done!

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Catrina Heart 19 April 2009

This poem greatly described the birth of words to chain up verses and sentences to have great imagery and context in a plain or blunt page....fabulous piece written with fine rhymes and diction.

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