from a collection entitled 'Semantic Dissonance; or The Echelon Rink' by Gary Knapton
Written words are not people
They are shapes
Resounding off the echoes of people as they once were
A one-dimensional recollection
Standing proud at their station
Fattened out by, if you're lucky,
The occasional neat articulation
Well founded and well rounded
Their resolute permanence spells 'danger'
Flag them as red (the colour)
See their impertinence!
Hanging around imploring to be re-said (only duller)
Or built upon
Galvanised afresh and let loose to multiply
Re-born and re-bred (now fuller)
Your words as I read them are what you thought
Not what you are thinking
You're asking to be lived backwards
Like first waking with the hangover and then going out drinking
There's no substitute for delivery
I haven't found one
Spoken words, not played back
Delivered live
Get scattered in the morning dew twinkle of grasses on level playing fields
Where the foolish and courageous thrive
Writers cast their lines and beckon all-comers to the bait
But it doesn't snag the darting pike
How could it?
Their baits are echoes
They are too late!
You only win the catch with open-mic
Here there is no morning dew
It long since evaporated in the searing heat
Of your incriminating tongue
Now powered on instinct
No comebacks
No undoing the damage of talking for fun
You're walking the streets with a loaded gun
Your itchy finger on the trigger spells trouble
Go figure!
Go rifling through the rubble of your blabbermouth concertos
Do they replay now in the tune you first heard ?
Or, shawn of context's melody
Do they screech and wail like a fallen bird ?
And what started out as your green four-leafed clover
Now black and white and red
All over
Written words are not people
They are shapes
Resounding off the echoes of people as they once were
A one-dimensional recollection
Standing proud at their station
Fattened out by, if you're lucky,
The occasional neat articulation
Well founded and well rounded
Their resolute permanence spells 'danger'
Flag them as red (the colour)
See their impertinence!
Hanging around imploring to be re-said (only duller)
Or built upon
Galvanised afresh and let loose to multiply
Re-born and re-bred (now fuller)
Your words as I read them are what you thought
Not what you are thinking
You're asking to be lived backwards
Like first waking with the hangover and then going out drinking
There's no substitute for delivery
I haven't found one
Spoken words, not played back
Delivered live
Get scattered in the morning dew twinkle of grasses on level playing fields
Where the foolish and courageous thrive
Writers cast their lines and beckon all-comers to the bait
But it doesn't snag the darting pike
How could it?
Their baits are echoes
They are too late!
You only win the catch with open-mic
Here there is no morning dew
It long since evaporated in the searing heat
Of your incriminating tongue
Now powered on instinct
No comebacks
No undoing the damage of talking for fun
You're walking the streets with a loaded gun
Your itchy finger on the trigger spells trouble
Go figure!
Go rifling through the rubble of your blabbermouth concertos
Do they replay now in the tune you first heard ?
Or, shawn of context's melody
Do they screech and wail like a fallen bird ?
And what started out as your green four-leafed clover
Now black and white and red
All over
