Poem
Rogets ghost is restless in death
collecting
that, expelled with words
- what’s left
meaning
hoarding breath
lining up glass jars
labelled
so, not mistaken
floating through ether
coming together
when shaken
tabled
for the forever
generation
with thanks
dear fellow
an apparition
in ghoulish off-yellow
staring down
the great
lexicographer
thus styled
face blackened with ink
from word smithing
long ago
compiled
into the first Thesaurus
red of molten metals
clang of the hammer
spark of the anvil
heat of toolmakers forge
settles
into neural pathways
a word
it’s story
the family tree
this twinner
of words
a synner
in purgatory
lost
on his way
to Arcadia
gone, and not
in-between realms
listing for centuries
misting the meadows
haunting smutty satirists
peddlers of prosaic prose
the pauper poet
cap in hand
sponging his benefit
he visits at night
when the ache
to write
overcomes
he comes, for his cake
wax sputter
two hundred and forty three
candles flutter
as he sinks it’s black teeth
beneath
the frosted lettering
- tasteless
he spits
away
he flits
curling back
his spine
with a calligraphic bend
with more words for the mix
he returns
wails - try one of mine
for the end.
© Darius the Mate 18-01-2022
Written for dVerse: Poetics, and National Thesaurus Day, celebrating Peter Mark Roget, born January 18th 1779, who collated synonyms extensively throughout his life, to use in his own works, and temper his depressions – first published in Rogets Thesaurus, 29 April 1852.
nicecissist 
Fabulous wordplay in this one 😀 I especially like; “a word it’s story the family tree this twinner of words a synner in purgatory lost on his way to Arcadia.” 💝
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Thank you, Sanaa.
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Wonderful contortions by Roget’s ghost. You breathed life into the old gent.
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That’s a lovely comment to receive. Thank you, Lisa.
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You’re very welcome, Darius.
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will be back for second read soon. i think this poems needs at least two reads
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I’m honoured you feel that way. Thank you so much!
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I think the ghost of Roget can be found somewhere in that graveyard of archaic words where only a few loquacious logophiles linger… a fun poem
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And a fun comment to match! Thank you, Björn.
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This is so much fun, Darius! I will be back to read again.
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That’s a great compliment. Thank you, Punam.
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“the pauper poet
cap in hand
sponging his benefit
he visits at night
when the ache
to write
overcomes
he comes, for his cake”
great wordplay throughout this… great idea for a poem, so much fun to read outload. you should consider recording it.
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Thank you, Phillip, I think I just might!
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A fantastic/phantasmic tribute, Darius!
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Thank you very much, Ingrid.
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positively etheresque as the words waft like the ghost over the shoulder – I really savoured these last words
“- tasteless
he spits
away
he flits
curling back
his spine
with a calligraphic bend
with more words for the mix
he returns
wails – try one of mine
for the end. “
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Thank you, Laura. A original, and creative prompt. Thoroughly enjoyed writing for it.
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it shows!
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I like these lines 🙂
and especially these:
Well done, Darius!
❤
David
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Much obliged, David. 😎
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This made me laugh–I hope that’s appropriate! And I love the cute ghost at his computer. Hi Ghostie! I would bake him something but he says that everything just goes right through him, poor guy. 😛
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That’s gutting, for him.
I think he’s a helpful type of ghost.
He might be looking over my shoulder, right now.
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I love the Roget ghost and his bottle collection of expelled word expectations. So much fun. The spine ending–I’m inspired!
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Woo! The spread inspiration is the best feeling. Thanks for the kind praise, K.
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You’re most welcome.
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What a wonderful epic Darius, excellent!
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with thanks, dear fellow – much appreciated, Rob.
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