Words, a poem by Clive Grewcock at Spillwords.com



written by: Clive Grewcock


I have learned that poems do become old enough to look after themselves,
or be put to bed on their own, to be picked up again in the morning.

Perhaps dropped off at a party, out of their comfort zone
to stand in the corner until it is all over.

Some are consigned to the cliche of a corner store greetings card,
while others are shared or kept safely in a wallet.

I have been known to remove their pacifier
and let the words kick and scream for themselves

until they settle down. They will come to thank me for it later.
When the words have been carefully moulded,

I pack them off with a duffle bag or stuffed into pockets.
I take comfort knowing these words are finding their way in the world,

mixing with older, wiser words. I hope they will stand their ground
and realise they are loved while others start to hatch.

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