WordsLikePictures by Yvonne de la Vega

Words like pictures cross my mind
colored words of strength in kind
never ever left a word behind like I've done to so many places.

My tongue doth tame toward older age  -the world I use less as my well worn stage,
I find less honor in being the rage
less contented in being known by many faces.


Words like pictures cross my mind
they stagnate until spoken in a poetic grind,
No, I've never left a word behind that I did never intend not to be taken.

Though my poetry fights a cause against stand up soliloquy,
 how the new poets maraud,
still, who's sure what a good laugh really does,
I still won't call it all for nothing.


Words like pictures cross my mind,
they push at the membrane for a time,
then dissipate if not given to rhyme,
if not given to incantation.

And in a forgotten nightmare I rise,
to re-occur an awakening lyrically wise,
with pen and paper and heavy eyes,

I take up an old station. 

Words like pictures cross my mind,
some sage and seashell some orange rind,
a dog, a roebuck and a lapwing find their way into my wisdom.

And Robert Graves was the man who knew too much,
yet searched the generations for someone to touch,
to reveal the original truths and such,
of what poetry really is. 

Words like pictures cross my mind,
and I choose not to leave even one behind,
and the words spew out and a riddle unwinds,
from the lips of the matriarch Sybille: 

What is true and heavy when carried?
What is sharp as an arrow when thrown?
What is hard to take with you yet harder to leave?
What knowledge is better not known?

Yvonne de la Vega © 2011