Notes About The Poem
My trade in metal technology and hand crafted materials inspired this analogy. Nothing comes easily, but the struggle is beautiful in the revelation.
Word Smith
A smithy peers into a white hot
Ingot formed square
Seeing the idea of a meaning
Form there
How many turns at the anvil
How many soakings
In the heat
Long sweating hours hammering
Out her beat
The shape of the curve
Coaxed, twisted
Unnerve
Rough forged
Dimpled and scaled
The infant soul struggles
To be released
Feverishly filing
Sanding
Blasting
Pausing...
Was that too much
Sleep on it
Dream of it
Put her on the table
Wait for her to speak
To cry out for your care
Grow into your dream
Polish until her sparkling
Truth is revealed
The word smith
Gazes in awe
She has been the midwife
Servant and guide through the
Strife
Chaos
Of meanings life
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