Long one, short ones, cliche and obscure
Modern, archaic, proper and all slang-like
I love them all.
If I had my druthers, I'd piddle about with them all day;
I'd pick 'em, spit 'em, drop 'em
I'd twist 'em, mince 'em, chop it up
I'd sing 'em, most loud, sweet cacophony.
Oh, but occasionally
I eat 'em
I quote 'em, I give 'em, I take 'em
I live and breathe 'em
I fear them.
"They can and will be used against you"...
A detail, minutiae, to an infinitesimal speck of who you thought you once were
They'll expose you and exploit you
Pulchritude, power, horror, ugliness and shame
They are love and loathing, hope and despair.
They incite riots and laughter and insight and change.
They escape you, they fail you, but they come back...
Awestruck by love, writhing in pain, at desire's peak, on the brink of death
A final utterance, one last plea
For naught but their own posterity.
The poem above was graciously lent by my wordsmithing friend at Tea and Honeybread. I took the picture on our weekend trip to Iowa. This is the one room school house attended by a six year old Herbert Hoover.