A Word is Not a Home
A word is not a home
but we set our tables
between its walls,
cook meals, annoy
friends, abuse ourselves.
Sometimes I misplace
one, and can’t find
my house, much less
the window’s desk
or the chair behind it.
But if I wait, something
always takes form in the fog,
an arm, a ribcage, a feathered
hope struggling to emerge.
Inept, I take comfort
in these apparitions,
accept their offerings,
lose myself in mystery,
find shelter there
in the hollowed curves.
O at the Edges 
You’ve managed, once again, to distill the workings of the mind perfectly. Oh I know that fog well. (K)
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I just hope the fog keeps clearing for me!
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I kind of like it, although those around me are often baffled by what I say…
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Ha!
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Close our eyes and see no fog. 😉
But I am fascinated by fog.
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As am I!
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I absolutely love this! I am a big word-forgetter, and you explain this feeling so well. I never thought this feeling would make such a great poem!
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Thank you, Maggie. Little moments like this comprise my day, so I try to take advantage of them. Sometimes it works. 🙂
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Loved it.. ❤
Thanks for sharing …
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I’m so pleased you liked it. Thank you for reading!
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Nice one
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Thanks very much, Maurice.
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Your welcome
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yes.
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Thank you, Nancie.
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Beautiful to think of waiting in the fog for mystery to relax and allow some “feathered hope” to emerge and wait with me. This is a great patience poem!
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I’m better off when being patient!
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“Sometimes I misplace one, and can’t find my house…”. Yet anther world-class poetic sentiment. This is why you are so completely and thoroughly Okaji SENSEI!
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Thank you, Daniel. Those words are sometimes difficult to find!
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If they are hard to find then you certainly are the Indian Jones of Words: always finding literary artifacts in any/all circumstances…
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You should see my fedora and bullwhip!
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I dare and/or challenge you to write a poem about a bullwhip…
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Dare/challenge accepted. But it might take a little while.
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You’ve depicted our/my disjointed and fuzzy thoughts perfectly, I especially love the line, “an arm, a ribcage, a feathered hope struggling to emerge”
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Thanks, Ivor. That struggle is all to familiar to me. 🙂
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Really like this one, Robert. Ah, yes, words are part of the dwelling of our days.
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Thanks, Simon. Words certainly make up a good part of my dwelling!
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Me too!
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You know I relate all too well to this one. I’m misplacing that damned house constantly!
But I’m determined to take your embrace of apparitions to heart; for a little too long now, the incompleteness of everything is keeping me from writing down even a line of poetry. That has to change.
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I’ve grown comfortable with the incomplete. It seems natural to me. 🙂
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This renewed my faith in words.
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The words!
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“but something always takes form in the fog…” reading your poems is like moving through lusty fog, a beautiful, mytery emerging !
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Sometimes I start out in the fog and just stay there. 😃
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Ha! But you don’t publish that! 😁
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Some things are best left in the fog.
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ha! agreed! BTW, we’ll be having a gathering of Poets for Peace in January, maybe the 22nd. Would you be interested in reading for us, introducing your chapbook? does that date work for you? it isn’t set yet.
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That would be wonderful! Yes, the 22nd or thereabouts works for me. Thanks, D!
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Awesome! I’ll get back to you to confirm, but pencil the date in…ok?
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Done. Monday, January 22.
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Reblogged this on Crazy Pasta Child.
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Hi … great poem. Wish you had a Follow button!!
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I guess you found it?
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And thank you!
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I love the metaphor, Robert. So true. I especially like the first two lines, “A word is not a home, but we set our tables between its walls.” Thank you for sharing. : )
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I’m so pleased it resonates with you, Justine. Thank you!
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