On Form

On Complexity

On Complexity

Begin with this idea: we’re all composed

of carbon atoms, oxygen, and trace

amounts of other elements, exposed

to entropy, yet somehow held in place.

From simple things, a complex form is made.

Examined closely, even these

distill into distinct component parts.

They bond to one another, fuse and trade,

Electrons spinning as they please

In orbit round their calm atomic hearts.

Consider, now, that words are much the same.

They bind together fast, each one we write

a vastly complex thing. What’s in a name?

Why, letters; lead or pixels, black on white.

Each one has weight, the matter shaped and changed,

defined by strange and charming quirks,

and charged with meaning. Language is an art,

but science helps us see how it’s arranged;

a microscope to see its works,

to catalogue its each and every part.

But words alone do not a poem make;

perspective often has a greater role,

so pull back from the looking-glass, and take

the time to see your writing as a whole.

Like russian dolls, these families of words

enveloped now in larger shells

paint bigger pictures for our inner eyes:

the graceful flight of softly-singing birds,

the tolling of those distant bells,

the painful touch of lovers’ thorny lies.