I love the swing and swirl of words as they tangle with human emotions.

There is no doubt that I have lots of words inside me; but at moments, like rush-hour traffic at the mouth of a tunnel, they jam.

But words can conquer words.

Words taken
by lips, tongue, teeth, throat,
down into body’s
caverns, to enter
blood, bone, breath,

In matters where I have no cognizance
I hold my tongue.

How true it is that words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean. Little audible links, they are, chaining together great inaudible feelings and purposes.

Words. Words. I play with words, hoping that some combination, even a chance combination, will say what I want.

Words, words, words.

Now sometimes words can serve me well
Sometimes words can go to hell
For all that they do

Words mean more than what is set down on paper. It takes the human voice to infuse them with shades of deeper meaning.

Where My Books Go

All the words that I gather,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad
heart is,
And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
Storm darkened or starry bright.

Words are the voice of the heart.

Words to me were magic. You could say a word and it could conjure up all kinds of images or feelings or a chilly sensation or whatever. It was amazing to me that words had this power.

And I watch my words from a long way off.
They are more yours than mine.
They climb on my old suffering like ivy.