17 Nov 2016

There are words that seem to go beyond their mandate, conjuring a surreal experience, as if in their very articulation, in the momentary intimacy of sound and meaning, you let them claim a part of your life that you never knew existed. When I first learnt the word epiphany, I would say it to myself aloud and wait for my world to explode and realign itself to new constellations.

Perhaps like a new word in a foreign language, you add to its bland monotone, all the anticipation and trepidation within yourself, anything that will draw it closer, coat its alien skin in familiar texture and tones.

Come on Marcus, what about ‘ambrosia’? Say it softly and feel the heady glow of a forever, expanding slowly into the arms of the starlit void.

So there is a word waiting under an umbrella in an unseasonal downpour, for a poet to come by and fit with angel wings, so it can shimmer and fly away, the cynosure of every wide-eyed book in the library.

Cynosure… that’s one, drenched and shivering.

You know it means ‘dog’s tail’?

moored gondolas-
the canal writes its story
in broken blue lines

Advertisements

34 thoughts on “17 Nov 2016

  1. Hahaha! And then I realized that some find dog tails as beautiful as I find cattails, and therein lies a tale. When a word no longer functions, what is it? A “broken blue line”? If poets cannot rejuvenate “the momentary intimacy of sound and meaning,” then what are we doing?

    Like

  2. I really like the opening, and this: “and wait for my world to explode and realign itself to new constellations”

    Also this: “Come on Marcus, what about ‘ambrosia’?”

    Like

  3. I remember when epiphany was one of mine. But, then came synchronicity, when different things collide, creating wondrous moments of epiphany. And so it goes, this mating of sound, that makes senses come to life, lets them breathe in to inspire, then exhale to express. Each word a breathing lesson.

    Creak of wooden oars
    cutting through crisp morning mist
    breathing in and out

    Elizabeth

    Liked by 1 person

  4. This is a brilliant word-voyage – and actually lapped at the edges of similar thoughts I have had, from time to time, when I’ve stumbled upon a particularly breath-taking word. Your haiku is wonderful and dovetails perfectly – and beautifully – with the prose piece.

    Like

  5. Poets should be able write with words that you can almost taste, hear or visualize so that the images formed can be digested with pleasure. You have done this so well here.

    Like

Comments are closed.