"A Small Hedge of Words"


Some say I lose the forest 
chasing metaphors in the moss. 
That I trim truth to fit a stanza 
and dress up plain meaning
in finest alliterative frock.


If truth sits stiff out in the open, 
what joy is there in waving at it? 
I'd rather coax it out sideways- 
through riddles, refrains, and 
the scent of freshly pruned syntax.


Call me elaborate, indulgent, 
even evasive at times- but trust: 
there's honesty in ornament 
if you learn to read the flourish.


I may be that “some poet” you flagged, 
waltzing past the point 
with a thesaurus in tow. 


But I'm not lost-just lingering,
where language grows wild 
and truth hides willingly.













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