Home: Poetry:
How Awkward the Language
By Oscar S. Cisneros [ Download in MP3 ]
How awkward the language, yet how smooth the words flow.
I put one after another and together they blow
Into big bright balloons and beauty so sweet,
Or blood and bone from the smashing of teeth.
For words are the slaves of my fickle, fickle whim,
I toss them about for her and for him.
Sometime they are silver, sometimes they are tin,
But always they hide a diamond within.
Yet sometimes they mock me or run from my grasp.
Then I am slave to thoughts I can't clasp.
What good is a keyboard or a pen in hand
When inspiration's flames refused to be fanned?
Isn't it funny? Isn't it nice?
That our friendship is distant and silent like ice.
But beneath the frozen surface and amid the moon's glow
We dream together floating in the tow
Of currents, and passion, and desire set free
All begun with words: to you, from me.
Can you tell I'm a coward? Yes, it is true:
I write down these words for fear of facing you.
But what kind of coward writes letters so fierce
Wishing and hoping your soul to pierce?
You see, some guys are funny and others all smiles
But what lies beneath their trickery and wiles?
What do they feel and can they express?
Do they grunt muddled phrases or bellow at best?
Look out for those guys, who carry that curse,
Men too manly to carry your purse.
Look for a poet, not a man that's a pain.
On the other hand, they say, all poets are vain.
