The poems on the printed page
Began as whispers in the mind
But now attentively they stand
Neat artefacts in black and white
Catalogued and classified,
Crisp and neat, solidified.
Pick them up and put them down,
Let them fall upon the floor,
Scatter them upon the table,
Rattle them like poker dice
But have a care for they are loaded,
Less innocent than they might seem.
Beware their false solidity
And gaze not on them overlong
Nor let them rest upon your tongue
For poems melt in people's mouths
And warmed by touch or lingering glance
May be absorbed like tongues of flame
Within the labyrinthine brain
Wherein by alchemy transformed
The man of careful calculation
Becomes the shaman wild and strange
Under the moon and the cold night stars.
Pete Crowther
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/whispers-in-the-mind/
