Somewhere, long ago

Somewhere, long ago, I lost a language.

Words, like jeweled coasters perched light on window-sills,

just out of sight; carefully lettered, dim-lit hallways,

diffused in a dappling dawn –

a reverie in lost sentences referencing only themselves.

I sought what little I could find,

rummaging in refuse, refusing the catalyst of tongue

and tooth when, better equipped, silence met me instead.

Still, as phrases found the furniture of faith,

they stood a bit taller than the mouth that spoke them,

and, in a final flash of familiarity, returned.


Empty House – guest poem by Seymour Jacklin

Another guest poem today. This one is by another favorite writer/poet and emerging friend, Seymour Jacklin. He is also a gifted storyteller with an awesomely cool accent (think South African blended with potpourri English). This one is spoken word which, in my opinion, is the best way to capture the fullest essence of the multi-sensory art of poetry.