What is it to be wordsmith?
To use symbols to try and make sense?
Or dwell in the absurd, if one can find the right word
The task can sometimes seem immense.
And writing in rhyme can sometimes consume
Leaving oneself without much space or room
To explore beyond parameters set in their way
Though I could do couplets all goddamn day
But it’s more about expansion, growth and the new
Learning things daily is important too
Stuck in the same ruts
Can make one a bit nuts
It’s a good thing to eschew
Okay, enough of that for now. Here’s the thing about words. They are universal as math and music, though the language, the dialect shifts from place to place. Sometimes they take the form of pictures, gestures, body language, scent, a gaze, but these are all symbols used to communicate.
I read someone say once that they don’t believe in synonyms, which is a notion that appeals greatly to me. I love the idea of each word having its own perfect application. It’s the reason why I have my clock device set to 24 hour time, I like the idea that every hour gets its own number, rather than having to share. I know that not everyone shares my love of the written word (more than spoken, though a well spoken word can certainly have an affect…) and that’s okay. I don’t share an affection for some stuff other people might like. But the thing that words do, the place that they occupy in my world is so intrinsic. I love being in bookstores, in libraries, because I am surrounded by them. I feel sane, and safe.
The best way to get me is with words.
To find a word and present it, as a gift for my consumption.
You can be the best looking dude on the beach, but if you can’t speak like Shakespeare, it’s only going to get you so far. And I’m not talking thine and forsooth, it’s not about the era, the age of the language, even the poetry of it. It’s how they’re used, their depth and breadth. Their girth, if you will.
I want to be filled up by the words,
to feel stretched as my body,
my mind expands,
reconfigures itself to encompass the meaning,
the weight those words bring to me.
I want to feel the characters, those black etched indicators of intent.
I want to feel the loops and swirls
of words like loops and swirls
curl around my shoulders like a cape,
to feel twine wind itself around strands of hair
and braid itself there.
To know that anchor is keeping my feet steady
While feather is keeping them light.
That fire finds home in my smile
And laughter makes my eyes bright.
I want to encompass language
and become good friends with truth,
feel consternation in the furrow of brows
And yea, occasionally use even forsooth.
Whether words inspire revelation
Or struggle to describe the banal,
they’re imprinted within me, every last syllable.
I’m madly in love with them all.