(Images contributed by the poet, as well!)
By Stephanie Mesler (aka Freda Frostbite)
Note: You can start at the beginning of any stanza and read the poem in any order. It is spiral in nature.
Words are like wasps, buzzing at your ears,
careening wildly out of control.
They float and flutter above your head,
never failing to distract from silence at the core.
They flop and flail and fall at your feet, begging to be picked up and heard,
tucked in your pocket to be stowaways on your journey.
Time passes, but not in a straight line.
It winds and climbs,
it dips and ducks like a brawler taking aim below the belt,
then fakes back and under, reminding you it can start over, but you never will.
Jupiter’s puniest son was dull, but he was fast.
Daddy Dearest breathed on him and made the wind.
It carried him across the expanse so that he might deliver Words.
Messages on parchment, in books, in song;
Words that matter.
Words that have power.
Words that once spoken won’t cease being said.
Some are made of gold and glisten in the sun.
They are broad and wide, gossamer truths for all time.
Others are grey, tainted, and ragged even before first reading,
powerful wisdoms no one wants to hear.
Every moment, from birth to the end, you climb.
One foot before the other, shoulders squared, gaze focused on what is ahead.
The problem is that ahead is not always where the right Words are.
Sometimes they are forgotten in what you’ve already passed,
or perch above your head, clarity all rolled up and tied with a ribbon,
well within your reach, but out of sight.
Often, Words are so pale that, even when we look right at them, we do not see.
Human as we are, neon is called for,
blazing signs, flashing EAT or VACANCY, EXIT or BADABING!
Mostly, Words get buried, consigned unheeded to their oblivion.
Poems can be submitted at the drop boxes on LEA 4, or by emailing them to caledoniaskytower at g mail (dot) com.