The Words of the Left-Handed Are Sometimes Right

1.

The title tells all. The verbal fireworks.

The language game, the play of words.

Beyond the sounds and scenes are the nuances

Of living life, inventing it if necessary,



Like the opening of the vein and then,

And then, go through that bold ceremony

Of bleeding. And bleeding some more.

This is the way to write a novel.



This is the way to compose a poem.

This is the way to imprison the sense

And arrest the meaning the right hand

Sometimes takes for granted



Like autumnal evenings getting longer and longer

Like the days getting impatient and bored

Like the hours useless for creating a new universe

Or renewing the old one where vision is bright



Or the deed is warm and open-hearted,

Like the high winds making music and committing murder

In a winter storm unpredicted, sneaking like a thief

On a street down South towards borders and boundaries



For people going away and coming home

For a thousand thanksgiving

Or these magical moments of motion

Of the months of making do with so little



Until we have finally moved on

To that peak of calling it quits finally

From all the hurrying of paces just to wait

And wait for the opportune times



In order to play with light,

In order to play with the word that gives healing,

In order to marry the lines of sand

And the lines of earth,



The lines coming into circles squaring

With hard truths, useless lies,

And the need to survive

So the spirit moves and can move



So that the stirring of the spirit blends

With the changing colors of the lazy leaves.



2.

The verbal fireworks,

The serious play of words

The play of serious words,

This recreating the world.





Aurelio S. Agcaoili

Nov. 28, 2004