These Are My JOTtings...

In Search of Concrete Meanings

At night I spoon through thoughts of mind
as cornflakes in a bowl
In search of toy that one might find
to make my words, not coal.

The thinking chewed in white arm chair,
embraced in pillows warm,
Quite like the ancient's flowing beard
and sinewed, gentle arm.

To talk in nuggets of great Truth,
we grasp like flowing oil,
But this was safety learned in youth,
relieving minds that boil.

The presence of the hottest stove
barks, "Distance!" to the hand.
For prudence is a treasure trove
as frothing parent stands.

The reader craves the blazing sun,
the moon of holes and cheese.
Trace verdant fields to joys all won,
while rolling in the breeze.

But frightened child wants none to see
he shivers in the dark
From razor-sharpened tongue to free
that writer might embark.

The terms, "abstract" and "concrete" show
the purpose of the thought:
To hide or let another know
relationship is wrought.

The clamminess of Southern dusk
engorges clothes in sweat.
The shelling of unwanted husk,
refreshed in comfort's debt.

The "general" is Safety's tool.
Specific's hard to climb.
With effort capture ev'ry rule,
'til words become sublime.

When maple syrup coats the tongue
the dance of taste ensues.
The butter joins and songs are sung,
'til sleep be worthy dues.

by Jay O'Toole
on October 11th, 2017