There are no words today
The shopkeeper told his patrons.
They gathered bereft seeking sublime phrases
Poems of love and loss
But he could offer them none.
There are no words today
He told them.
No typeset letters upon the page
No phrases crafted of sinew and strength
Or of weakness and failing.
They pressed on with their day then
Without their fix of crafted words
To scribble waxen-colour inside their lines
They were left to contour their own imagery
And look about them for hue and tone and rhyme.
Lost then in clichés and quotations
For day after subsequent day
Used words were read over and again
Off ***** or torn sheets
Or passed hand-to-hand on gritty streets
And stapled and taped
To telephone poles and fences.
There were no words for the patrons
On that day and since
And their unspent coins
Brought them no respite
For the disquiet in their hearts.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
There are no words today
The shopkeeper told his patrons.
They gathered bereft seeking sublime phrases
Poems of love and loss
But he could offer them none.
There are no words today
He told them.
No typeset letters upon the page
No phrases crafted of sinew and strength
Or of weakness and failing.
They pressed on with their day then
Without their fix of crafted words
To scribble waxen-colour inside their lines
They were left to contour their own imagery
And look about them for hue and tone and rhyme.
Lost then in clichés and quotations
For day after subsequent day
Used words were read over and again
Off ***** or torn sheets
Or passed hand-to-hand on gritty streets
And stapled and taped
To telephone poles and fences.
There were no words for the patrons
On that day and since
And their unspent coins
Brought them no respite
For the disquiet in their hearts.
