Alas when specificity is masked in its duplicity
to temper its intensity it may have a propensity
to touch the edges gently to stimulate us mentally
to hide within the lilting verse a subliminally errant curse
with subtle lines a bit too terse - then again it could be worse
they could insert an asterisk - induce headshaking “tsk tsk tsks”
So when asked to specify, I try, I try, I truly try
to force my words into “the norm”, confine my ink, make it conform
and yet it flows – a violent storm, from deep within a whirlwind born
a spinning, loud and raucous horn wailing from a pen pricks thorn
howling in both joy and pain, ranting at both sun and rain
sitting ‘tween tracks rusted stain waving to life’s passing train.
The trick - to call a word a word - not split it with poetic sword
claim it left us empty, bored or thrilled, awakened, reassured
the trick – to let the words find us to chip away our readers rust
outwit our “learned” poets crust, open our hearts and slowly trust
that in its harsh simplicity it stabs with cold specificity
at the edges of rigidity and the barriers ‘’tween you and me.
John G. Lawless
©3/29/2019
Categories:
headshaking, poetry, poets, writing,
Form: Verse