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my orature

a celebration of traditional oral culture

“He lives the poetry that he cannot write.  The others write
the poetry that they dare not realise.”―Oscar Wilde


i scribble not on parchment or on ice,
or in the sand, or where the page's price,
beyond my means, would swallow up my ink
before I had sufficient time to think.

i scribble not on canvas or on cloud,
or on graffiti walls, or where the proud
mark hieroglyphs in secret-sheltered caves
where spirits rendezvous in open graves.

i scribble on the cool, refreshing air,
so all the world may fathom and revere
the utterances of my lips and tongue;
upon the hungry ear my scripts are sprung.

my orature speaks truth the soul to vex,
that cares not for sophisticated lex,
whose instant life shall never be interred
where pen and ink have nailed the written word.

i scribble on the conscience of all men,
as muse of every earthly denizen;
without th'encumbrance of crude pen or quill,
i champion the cause of Sovereign Will.

© Copyright 2023 September 20
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
Written by cabcool
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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