Weaving Words. Poem by Fay Slimm
Weaving Words.
The muse comes drifting by,
Then from glistening, thread-like
Strands of soul's eternal mist,
Unrolls a virgin-new creation
Of well-sewn, ironed verse.
Shaped and moulded words.
Pleasing both the ear and eye.
Unrehearsed, the urge to pen
Sees skeining deep inside
For spinning, as poetic thought
Unwinds, thus begins again
The weaving of emotive cloth.
A fine array, laid down in
Such a way of well-spun word
That ultimately, the process
Of perception's being stirred.
And desire to scroll begins.
Poet's verse, discreetly cloathed in
Rhythmic style of structured metre.
Changing after little while
With liquid flow, and right repeats,
Stresses neatly dressed, and
Sequenced, lined correctly, will
Grammatically complete the piece.
But working webs of words
Is Drama - cloth for wearing
Next to beating human hearts.
Meant for being heard - performance
For effect within the living soul.
When read aloud, the written word
Sits well.- Artistic weaving has occured.
Fay! you have captured my heart pet! such beautiful words, you have encapsulated me in your poems. regards Bob
I see that your muse does not limp. Very interesting read. I find it captivating and beautiful. A 10
You're muse weaves so well lady, words flow from your soul, one to another like magic don't you know, when you are inspired you feel the urge to never let it go... Andrew 10
Hi Fay. Many times I have likened writing to weaving or painting and your piece is certainly well woven. Regards Dave T
Got to echo Tom, here, Fay. All who write will chime to your bell their familiarity with the muse, the urge, and the time things just flow. I once wrote of my daughter's piano-piece composing that she seemed to have no hindrance between soul and the stroking of the keys, as if she, like Michaelangelo, had seen the shape in the stone and just striven to set it free. Your poem seems to echo the same sentiment with the same natural wonder as to from whence the creation comes. Beautiful. Perhaps you 'owe' us the other side of the same coin: the ones that just won't come to birth no matter what the labour pains! Did one of those once called 'Nothing to Write Home About'.... do you ever have times like that? Thanks again, Tony
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 8:20:19 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Working webs of words, emotive cloth, weaving has indeed occurred. Just lovely Fay, a poem to be proud of.10/10 Thanks Tom