Mot Poems - Poems about Mot

I saw you again last night, real and near and true--- And knew that, if I found The Right Word (not good words, or convincing words; only The Right Word would do), You would turn and see me, And know, clean and clear, Like the ringing of a bell, That though the years have blurred My face and mind and touch, Still there within...

Continue reading...

Loose leaves rustle. The gray light of evening dips and sways and night closes in. Gone are the jays and the wagtails, the harbingers of better days. No fancy gadgets, just a jar of pencils newly sharpened. The clatter of a typewriter haunts the silence, like a woodpecker probing for nutrition, finding little. Curtains flutter....

Continue reading...

...inspiration from 'Preludes' by T.S. Eliot Loose leaves rustle. The grey light of evening dips and sways. Evening birds bleat their lonely tattoo. Gone are the jays and the wagtails, the burnt-out end of smoky days. No fancy gadgets, just a jar of pencils newly cut. The clatter of a typewriter haunts the silence, like a woodpecker seeking nutrition, finding none. Curtains...

Continue reading...

Loose leaves rustle. The gray light of evening dips and sways and night closes in. Gone are the jays and the wagtails, the harbingers of better days. No fancy gadgets, just a jar of pencils newly sharpened. The clatter of a typewriter haunts the silence, like a woodpecker probing for nutrition, finding little. Curtains flutter....

Continue reading...

Le Mot Juste The right word indeed is what we poets always seek As we use our imaginations in finding and identifying A theme of interest and one that allows us to work and To weave a tapestry of poetic virtue and enchantment. The right word for the sake of poetic discussion can be A singular word, two or three words,...

Continue reading...

I am Mother Of The tribe Ma’at and I am as One thought that of Thoth and half of these as a twin of yours . I am Guide and Guardian in the guise of Word and I keep a list on the book of death as I mark the Sea with a mount of rock I keep the wits for all of gods . I am write and go forth by day I am the light and keep...

Continue reading...

...inspiration from 'Preludes' by T.S. Eliot Loose leaves rustle. The grey light of evening dips and sways. Evening birds bleat their lonely tattoo. Gone are the jays and the wagtails, the burnt-out end of smoky days. No fancy gadgets, just a jar of pencils newly sharpened. The clatter of a typewriter haunts the silence, like a woodpecker seeking for nutrition, finding little. Curtains flutter. She's...

Continue reading...

...inspiration from 'Preludes' by T.S. Eliot Loose leaves rustle. The grey light of evening dips and sways. Evening birds bleat their lonely tattoo. Gone are the jays and the wagtails, the burnt-out end of smoky days. No fancy gadgets, just a jar of pencils newly cut. The clatter of a typewriter haunts the silence, like a 'pecker jonesin' for nutrition, finding squat. Curtains flutter. She's...

Continue reading...