Of second-hand words, all are so,
rare freshly minted, coined few,
to greet evolving spinning world,
that needs textspeak, reiterates.
Glyph, jot or tittle for my eye,
but who will read, context recite,
when easier to turn blind eye –
the stories from tomorrow morphed
to history, strange seers’ art,
for moving finger, writ, moved on.
Here’s hieroglyphs, Rosetta stone,
past once masked, yet decoding prone,
The yellowing pages, parchments,
hide – strange, translucent sheep-stretch wide –
but more than I, a compliment,
to be a reader, focus, cite,
so widen orbit, source, sight, light.
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales, UK, from ministry in the Methodist Church due to Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces curated by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, including Poetry Potion.
His blog is at https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com