Talents

Talents Talent Needs nurturing Words of wisdom To grow With the thoughts And deeds one does So Word play On words Played Upon Out Up Over + over again by the players at play in the potter’s field with words of clay Since the beginning Of Day Unfurling with the dawn Tipped fingers of the morn Which follows in the wake Of the word Which breaks The soil in verse Upturning ideas Which seed Future generations Nurturing the talents they need To express The beauty of life And death In the flow Of the river of time Where words grow On the tree of knowledge So Peacefully slow As they show

The direction Which the gods would have us go Should we hark To the word which we witness when we listen in the dark Beneath the surface rippling waves As we fish In the silence of the wait Which unburdens As it lightens The load Shouldered in a nap sack By the fool Hunch-backed Cracked Since the fall Of the day When the word Began to dawn And the myths Began to mourn The loss Of innocence As genes were crossed In the seeds Of time’s need To heed The voices in the dark Speak The words of wisdom of the meek Who observe The beauty of the truth of the verb To be Come Undone In the play On words Voices say As one trawls To catch The ideas to nurture And grow The word spun seed Through time Man needs To sew In the garden Where words of silent wisdom Flow

One needs To open one’s chakras To absorb The love Of the Lord In the light Hearted music Of the symphony of life Which uplifts Those who bear he burden Of gifts From afar In the East Following sun And star In search Of a metaphor to transform Water into wine As a new era Be borne In the pod Where seeds of Time Were to flower In the players’ mime And jest As the joker and fool Heeded request Was heard to echo Throughout the silence Of the word Spun web Cast in stone Scribed scriptures To adorn the throne Of the sun-god who saw Behind the veil There was more In the word store In store For future generations to feed The children suffered to come To the light In deed Creativity requires Being Close to the edge Seeing The word on the page Being spoken

By those on board The ship of fools Whose word hoard In the hold Is held Under armed guard Whilst the instant can be fished From the ocean of time In which the ship Lists The logic heard In the creaking timbers Spared Ideas in bloom Words in flower Watered by wisdom In an April shower When Spring Heralding cuckoos Love sing in a fling Stones Fall On the workers Great and small Who sew Seeds of love In the smiles They show For what is Man Without wit But a god Without a throne On which to sit?