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Man Writing Letter and Woman Reading Letter, two paintings by Gabriel Metsu combined into a dyptich More: Original public domain image from Wikimedia Commons

Ode To Words: W3 Prompt #74 for Wea’ve Written Weekly

Oh, words!
You’re the last thing I engage with
even after the lights go out
and the first thing that awakes
when I awake.
You gush out of me in rainbow spirals
and do summersaults in my head.
All too speedily I must pick up
pen and paper on which
gleam shades of early foxing*
from the night’s inactivity.

Oh words, oh words!
Sometimes those papers are
store brought receipts
laying forlorn on the table,
other times the edges of white leaves
in books of candor I adore.
I must release,
I must release, oh words,
to let my eyes see you
in all your rawness
before you escape from me
or worse—evade me
when I need you the most.

Oh words! You come in various
colors, flavors, and sizes
and different nerve and verve.
Nothing relieves my angst
than to see you lined up
like little toy soldiers
in the landscape of little boys.

You take me to new flights
and new trajectories, words–
when I need to calm
unnumbered toils.
I bow to you in celebration
and pray my eyes to discern always
your clamor and glamor
in your every color and form.
Come often to me–release me,
oh, words!
You escort me one step
closer to heaven.

© selma
*
(212 words)

*Foxing is the yellowish-brown discolorations seen on the
pages of old books. The pages would be described as “foxed.”
I took this reference to describe how pen and paper would
show early signs of foxing after a night of inactivity.


Written for W3, Prompt #74: Wea’ve Written Weekly at The Skeptic’s Kaddish. xo
Posted on September 27, 2023

Okie dokie ~ Let’s do this thing!

I. The prompt poem:

‘And In That Moment, Somewhere A Band Was Playing’, a poem by Yours truly

This poem branched out of the prior week’s W3 poem prompt written by Deepthy.
Find that poem here:

‘Flight of Ideas’, a poem by Deepthy

2. Prompt guidelines

The iconic Chilean poet Pablo Neruda (1904 – 1973) would have turned 119 this
summer. Neruda was known for his historical epics, political manifestos, and
love poems. Neruda’s incisive and joyful odes were often dedicated to ordinary
objects making them approachable yet surreal.

Click HERE to read “Ode to My Socks,” translated from Spanish by Robert Bly,
in which Neruda describes his covered feet as “two fish made / of wool, / two long
sharks / sea-blue.” 

  • Inspired by Neruda’s electric, surreal images, write a joyful ode to an ordinary
    object in your life. It doesn’t matter what it is, think kindly about how to honor
    and describe this praiseworthy item of yours.
  • This particular poem of Neruda’s consists of 215 words, so try to bring yours
    close to the word count. Not exactly– close; but not too short. AND Joyful,
    remember!

3. Submit: Click on ‘Mr. Linky’ on The Skeptic’s Kaddish Website, PLEASE.

To view the other participating poems, click here.


Girl writing drawing, vintage illustration
Girl writing drawing, vintage illustration psd. Free public domain CC0 image.

Thanks for reading my poem.
Submissions are open for 5 days, until Monday, October 2, 10:00 AM (GMT+3)
I hope you choose to participate in this prompt too. See you inside.

Selma Martin
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This Post Has 40 Comments

  1. that bird

    Fabulous read. Enjoyed your weaving. And so relatable. Thank you for sharing. 🙂

    1. Selma Martin

      Thrilled to know your thoughts on this. Thanks so much. Come again, Kritika 😊 xoxo

      1. that bird

        My pleasure kindly 🙂
        For sure, will be reading more…engaging here is a gift. xoxoxo

  2. byngnigel

    I love the response to the prompt. Words, for us who enjoying writing, is like oxygen to a suffocating soul. This is some fantastic poetry, Selma. Well done. 👏👏💙

    1. Selma Martin

      Thanks for praising my efforts this way, Nigel. Humbling 🙇🏽‍♀️

  3. ben Alexander

    Oh, Selma! This is wonderful… I wish I had written this!

    Much love,
    David

  4. Suzanne

    That is so perfect and so relatable to scraps of paper everywhere 😊. I feel I need a dictaphone near at all other times (especially in car, walking or in bath) as words come at times and I don’t want them to escape … 💞

    1. Selma Martin

      They tend to sneak in sometimes. We catch the ones they let us catch. And then they move on to another word lover. 😂 those words!
      Bless you. Thanks for reading 💕

  5. Sadje

    Wonderful ode to words. Where would we be without them.

    1. Selma Martin

      Yeah, where would we be without them. Bless you Sadje. Xo

  6. Maria Michaela

    I learned about foxing while checking photos on Pinterest. This is such a beautiful ode. 🩷

    1. Selma Martin

      Thank you, Foxy lady. (Different from foxing)
      Bless you.

    1. Selma Martin

      True true. Amazing stories only please. Words matter. Let’s use them for good. Thanks xo

  7. beth

    I absolutely love this ode, and I live and love words, as well

    1. Selma Martin

      Aww. So happy to receive this comment, Beth. Happy week to you. Happy October!! Yay! 😁

  8. sgeoil

    The perfect topic for an ode…a life without words is no life at all…

    1. Selma Martin

      I struggled with what to write. 😂 until finally—Words!
      Thanks for reading and commenting xoxo

  9. Cheryl, Gulf Coast Poet

    Exquisite poem, Selma! <3 Words are with us in our dreams and in our waking hours. We must capture them before they "escape." I never mind being awakened by a poem! 🙂

    1. Selma Martin

      Words. They come and then they go. Catch them while we can. Make a difference. So happy you liked this, Cheryl. Xoxo

  10. Elizabeth

    Hi Selma, wonderful poem! Yes to words!

  11. memadtwo

    Words are always worthy of celebration. (K)

        1. Selma Martin

          Thanks so much for this dear David. I’ll be taking a short break for a while and hope to return older and wiser when I do 😜 I will definitely return to W3 where all the greats congregate weekly because being in their presence nourishes my soul. Thanks, David. I wish you miracles.

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