A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Thursday, December 19, 2019

the stickle

Finicky isn't meticulous.
Scrupulous hasn't the consequence
or model of conscientiousness,
and reason has never had
quite the sense
of sense.

But it has
more reason,
though.

There are no
synonyms. No, not
to a point interchangeable.
There's always one word
that fits best, just here
- all hanging from what
you mean so clear. So dull
if you think or choose
between words
as if

you don't know
or care, can't tell

how the difference in shade
and tone comes in.

Connotation
fans out behind
each word, from all
of its other sense and use,
every context it fits
that does not here apply -
it nonetheless clings
and strikes the ear
and eye. Every color
and shade that does not
overlap

with your alternate choice
tells why
you should choose between.
At least try,
test and weigh,
with decision and aim: Each brings
its tone, its texture to play,
builds force, strikes home
by angles unique
which combine in array

With all other well-picked words
you say. Be fallible

Act
from taste, your style
as artless and effortless
as is or may be! But

be decisive. Not indifferent,
as if
"This word here and that?
Are the same."

You wish.
Dream,
hope,
fantasize, and
want all you will. There are no
synonyms, except in use rough
and ill.

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