A Chain of Words

Give me words
I’ll weave you a chain
No Rather show me where
the words like mushrooms grow
I’ll go gather them myself
while the eye is sharp
the ear still keen

I already know
the best words hide
beneath blackberry & nettle
there where the sweetest things
lie guarded by the poisonous
After all good words
are treasure rare

When I return
with lips dark blue
with arms red with welts
I’ll have a pail of them for you
green as an Irish girl’s eye
pale as her full breast
fiery as her fist

These I’ll string
along a longing line
so strong it cannot break
locked by the tiny silver clasp
of an unsolvable mystery
understood by none
other than you

“There’s a whole language out there,
and one’s role as a [poet] is to stumble around in it.”

~ Ciaran Carson


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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3 Responses to A Chain of Words

  1. As the mind flows freely…wonderful, Peter :)


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