Word and Thought
And can you say exactly what’s a word?
(Seems easy, but it isn’t!) It’s a thought
that takes on form: once wraith, it now is wrought,
much in the way that milk morphs into curd
(no Middle East ethnicity inferred).
A word’s a winged idea that’s been caught,
a spirit turning physical. In short,
an abstract concept which can now be heard.
Was Pinturicchio a peerless master?
Which of us plies his trade, nor meets complaint?
And what made Caterina such a saint?
Might Joan of Arc, for instance, not outlast her?
Crusades and poetry ain’t for the faint
of heart. That tart, Art, truckles with disaster.
Categories:
truckles,
Form: Sonnet
truckles to the wild wind's will, the rain,
tickles leaves, twigs and tender shoots,
trickles around damp, mossy boughs,
tracing, seeping down to thirsting roots!
Categories:
truckles, nature, seasons, uplifting,
Form: Rhyme