(... she plays with words)

~

like wind she plays with words,
shaped sand upon the beach;
building castles to the sky,
where tide her walls can't breach.

the combinations countless,
she untangles any stumbling lines;
in tapestry-flowing fountains,
her words to us, our sip of wine.

with nary but her hands she crafts,
poetry 'neath the noonday sun;
ceasing not except to watch,
a seabird as it tends its song.

in subtleties she stirs,
her adjectives like riffs;
nuanced dance in every verb,
a song that rises 'cross the drifts.

words that rivet every reader.
lines that wile a way with rhymes;
stanzas frame a photograph,
her free verse plays along in time.

combers rendered speechless,
marvel her poetic ways;
high as terns can fly she reaches,
as with every term she plays.

her muse in song delights
in ev'ry crashing wave she's heard;
her phrasing light takes winged flight,
like wind she plays with words.

on sands that ripple 'long the shore,
like conductor's arms at final score;
crescendo builds... she stands *****,
then fades to black when sun has set.

~

post script.

today she was my morning muse... a delightfully brilliant poet who knows how to play with words in a most riveting way!  i only just found her beautiful.work.  please allow me to introduce you to Chelsea Rae in these lines:  http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1861530/shine-your-love/

.
I go by the name of Rook.
Lord of all that you can see.
I cradle and nurture my forest home,
my throne sits in the Poetree.

The canopy stretches before me,
tree tops licked in morning dew.
A finch catches my eye and winks,
greeting his Lord, then off he flew.

The sounds of Dawn, the forest awakes,
shedding sleep dust to the rising sun.
An owl calls her goodnight hoot,
disappears, rejecting the day to come.

Otters sport, play chase, by a stream
that flashes silver as light rays dance.
A Ladybird, yellow with black spots,
lands surprised, to crawl along a branch.

Clean crisp air, caressing nostrils,
invigorating life through cool beauty.
The vista of sunrise across the woods,
the source of inspiration for the Poetree.

© Pagan Paul (24/01/17)

Broken wings don't serve much purpose,
except for in their beauty alone,
with constant reminders that linger in air,
of days an nights that have flown,

All gone so quickly to notice,
the value of passing minutes,
it's hard to see the forest ahead,
when you find you are within it,

Death for some a gift of life,
reborn to see it anew,
to finally know all the answers you had,
of times when you hadn't a clue,
why do song birds sing so sweet,
and why is the sky so blue?

Innocence is often lost,
to many back in youth,
except for the enlightened few,
who fear not in the truth,

When for you a peace would come,
to take away all the worry,
your feet will finally get a rest,
from living amid the hurry,

It seems I have a few years left,
or decades for all I know,
perhaps I must endure the pain,
for seeds I've left to sow,

I wish that I could see you again,
in all your earthly glory,
though I tell of you,
in the words that I cry,
of our poetic story,

Tears they hit a barren page,
they flood my very being,
releasing for me the poet within,
a gift for me in freeing,
opening up my eyes to the world,
in all that I am seeing,

I hope ahead for clearer skies,
an at night for a peaceful sleep,
I hope for no more fatal days,
of lost souls in the deep,

I am unafraid of death by now,
I've seen her up close before,
she didn't come wearing,
a cloak this time,
as she took you away from my door,

Death is there for everyone,
just as is our birth,
I hope one day that I will know,
what every second,
is worth.

Ma Cherie © 2017