The Letter S

The serpentine letter S

stands of course for snakes

and makes the sound

of their sibilant hiss.

Also it stands for spiders

whom most of us detest 

but I see as sentient beings,

wise weavers of webs:

those delicate spirals, or else

those fragile circles suggesting wheels

crossed by strong, straight spokes.

Webs that stick to your face

or sway in the breeze;

webs that shine after rain,

strung with sparkling droplets

prismatic as sequins, to flash and scintillate.

The letter S begins

these words — song 

and singing, soft,

surprising, startling, shocking,

sudden and slow,

stiff and supple,

slender, slim, 

slippery, shivering,

superb, and at last sweet.

It sounds (or sighs, or sometimes sings)

in these words — graceful,

glamorous, glissando, gasp,

upset, upstart, push, press,

pause, peruse, pursue,

promiscuous, promise, persist,

espouse, aspire, and especially, surely, ascend.

You can’t make scones,

you can’t even stir the mix,

unless you include the letter

and/or sound of S.

You can’t steer a bicycle, board a bus,

cross the Sahara Desert

or discover a lost continent!

Without this useful consonant,

you’re just no good, you’re less

than a sorry, struggling mess.

And so, my friends, I rest my case.

I spread my hands and smile, 

even smirk a smidgeon, as I say

that for me to fully exist — Rosemary

Nissen-Wade, aka SnakyPoet, it’s essential 

to use several smart and sensual, sexy letters S.

A response to the latest Thursday Think Tank at Poets United