I like the feeling of words doing as they want to do and as they have to do.

My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, with the twirl of my tongue I encompass words and volumes of words

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.

Words do inspire.

Words bounce. Words, if you let them, will do what they want to do and what they have to do.

If a thing can be said in ten words, I may be relied upon to take a hundred to say it. I ought to apologize for that. I ought to prune, pare and extirpate excess growth, but I will not. I like words — strike that, I love words — and while I am fond of the condensed and economical use of them in poetry, in song lyrics, in Twitter, in good journalism and smart advertising, I love the luxuriant profusion and mad scatter of them too.

By words the mind is winged.

And most wonderful of all are words, and how they make friends one with another, being oft associated, until not even obituary notices them do part.

Love words, agonize over sentences. And pay attention to the world.

not by the force of arguments and opposition, but by the intricacy of the words,

<b>Words</b>

Be careful of words,
even the miraculous ones.
For the miraculous we do our best,
sometimes they swarm like insects
and leave not a sting but a kiss.
They can be as good as fingers.
They can be as trusty as the rock
you stick your bottom on.
But they can be both daisies and bruises.
Yet I am in love with words.
They are doves falling out of the ceiling.
They are six holy oranges sitting in my lap.
They are the trees, the legs of summer,
and the sun, its passionate face.
Yet often they fail me.
I have so much I want to say,
so many stories, images, proverbs, etc.
But the words aren't good enough,
the wrong ones kiss me.
Sometimes I fly like an eagle
but with the wings of a wren.
But I try to take care
and be gentle to them.
Words and eggs must be handled with care.
Once broken they are impossible
things to repair.

I love words. I thank you for hearing my words. I want to tell you something about words that I think is important. Words are my work, they’re my play. They’re my passion. Words are all we have really. We have thoughts, but thoughts are fluid. And, then we assign a word to a thought and we’re stuck with that word for that thought. So be careful with words. The same words that hurt can heal.

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

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