Les Mots qui Rient [a sonnet]

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Words are what I love above all other
components of creation’s rainbow rain.
Fulfilment beckons when I am smothered
beneath the stream of alphabetic skein.
For words can dance and sing and paint the sky;
they sculpt the night and heighten solar flares.
They influence cold minds to tears and sighs
and take the hardened-hearted unawares.
Yet, I say fulfilment only “beckons”,
for there’s a darker aspect to this verse;
one on which I never would have reckoned
but which is my secreted cri de Coeur.
  For though with words I make ten thousand worlds,
  they laugh at me for what has not unfurled.
 

◄ My Little Sieve

Ghostword Graveyard ►

Comments

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John Coopey

Tue 12th Jul 2011 16:12

Classy stuff, Alan.
Lovely rhythm and even with a 9th line turn.

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Alan Morrison

Mon 11th Jul 2011 23:09

Your comments are so incisive, intelligent, humble and humbling. Thank you. "Reality not matching art". Precisely. It's enough to make me feel like a failure. It does. Daily.

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Isobel

Mon 11th Jul 2011 18:53

I love this Alan - for what it says as much as how it is crafted. It reminds me very much of a poem I wrote once, though it is much better expressed. Mine was more along the lines of actions speaking more than words but yours is also touched with that idea of reality not matching art - dreams not coming to pass.

Lovely poetry. x

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Cate Greenlees

Mon 11th Jul 2011 16:55

A little gem. The structure and flow of this sonnet are excellent. Some lovely lines here too.
"For words can dance and sing and paint the sky;
they sculpt the night and heighten solar flares."
Clever ending couplet too.
Cate xx

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