Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Word tramp~

what I do then
Bloodhound-like
(private eye is too polite, way too polite)
in pursuit of hints and clues
or a trace, just a trace
of what may be a story, or not
anything for 400 words,
I sniff and scour the air
Wade through stacks
of yellowed newsprint
Stare at page 3 photos mostly,
Or sometimes page 3 types
Overhear conversations quite blatantly
while pretending to read book titles,
shrink,
look into the distance, holding a biscuit or
a cup of tea.
(looking nondescript helps)
while I hunt for chinks,
gauge pauses and cadences
tides and ebbs, in the rhythm of talk
sieve past chit chat
like a prospector hunting for gold flecks
patiently,
the adrenalin thrumming in his veins
knowing that a nugget is in there for sure

I’m not there to clap,
gawk at celebrities
collect autographs
Or make friends on FB
no prisoners taken, no mercies
all’s fair in love and words.
build up a story,
tweak or ignore an occurrence, or blow it up big
master of their fates,
I do as I please

Or, I try.

4 comments:

Steve Finnell said...

you are invited to follow my blog

AmitL said...

A true reporter?:)

63mago said...

Sometimes the world is a tough place when one loves words.

Elizabeth Westmark said...

I love this.

Some days my own word scraps are like the mighty Mississippi, alternately nurturing, then flooding, drowning & devasting; other days the word scraps are so dessicated and paltry they blow away in the lightest breeze and I am left to wonder at the word "writer" and my own conceits.