Words are powerful... Words are meaningful... Words can only have their required impact when they are used in combination with other words that interlock either side of them in a sentence... Words can be the key to deciphering a particular reference... Words can only mean what they do when they have lived a life of interchangeability... Words are used in unison with sounds and images when we dream or when we wish to convey a thought, an idea, a message to those close, far, intentionally, or accidentally. We can find words... We can lose words... We can adopt words... We can save words... We can build are world and a life with words... We can watch someone be brought to their knees with words - because words have a weight to them, words have a gravity to them, words have a way about them that when evoked in a certain way, and when innunciated in a particular fashion by a diction-endowed individual, can open minds, ears, eyes, mouths, to such a degree that allows for the continuance of language, in all its forms, throughout the infinite universes that harbor many different worlds, many different sunrises, many different communicators, authors, dreamers, artists, writers, poets capable of telling their own story, but only in their own words.
language
Sunday Ramble: 23-10-22
My Poem “Adopt a Word”
Many years ago now I adopted a word - a word that would come to define me, a word that would come to inspire me, a word that would come to mean more to me than any other word - because as soon as I saw that word I knew who and what I was, because I knew that that word was me and had always been me... over the years I have used many words to describe what I have seen, what I have felt, what I believe, what people have meant and continue to mean to me - but there will only ever be one word that says more than I ever could about what it means to be someone like me: a dreamer, a storyteller, a writer - but not like any other, because the word that I found and which found me I have come to realize has a power of its own that can open doorways to places, that can bring back memories of the past, as well as give the gift of a vision of as-yet unrealised brand new worlds... many people have read what I have written, and when I am writing from the heart then what I write in every way is all me and my life, as told through my poetry... many languages are spoken, many languages are there to be read, many people are constantly looking for a purpose to their life and for the reason why they are alive - and from the moment that I started down my path through life and I started to see beauty in every facet of the world, I knew that when I chose the word "Poet" I had adopted a word that was in every way who I was and who I would always be.
A Poem A Day #305: Missing Words
A Poem A Day #179: All in the signs
A Poem A Day #131: Communication
A Poem A Day #122: Morphology
A Poem A Day #121: Language
A Poem A Day #32: First Word
My Poem “A Poet and Their Muse”
It is not as easy as some people might think to imagine something from nothing as fast as it takes for someone to blink… even for those people who are skilled at improvisation, the ability to be able to come up with something on the spot is a miraculous gift of inspiration… unless you know someone or something well then it is almost impossible to create an expose about them without first spending some time with a particular person or thing and observing everything about them – from the way that they talk, to the way that they look, to the way that they listen, to the way that they move… and unless you ask questions and get answers then no one can know anyone, nor anything, nor find out how, nor why, they do what they do. How does a painter paint? How does a writer write? How does a human being or an animal live and breathe? And the answer to all those questions is the same: simply by doing so – because creativity, like most facets of instinct, is involuntary, and it is done first and foremost without any thought of personal gain. Artists create art because they must… sometimes there is more to say about something old than there is about something new… there is something more interesting about finding out how, why, when, and where something emerged into this world as a result of a specific converge and configuration of cosmic dust that had to occur. Artists can describe an idea, a thought, a piece of art that they have originated – but, in all honesty, no artist could ever accurately tell you where, when, why, nor how they are able to do all that they do, because the sharing of inspiration from the source to the artist is a language that is only known by a poet and their muse.
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