Scissors: Clumsy Language for Poetry Friday

I'm a physically clumsy person. That clumsiness extends to meter in poetry.

Angus did this beautiful thing with some of my scissors. 

                                                       Scissors. Scissors choose up sides.

                                                       One along the other glides.

                                                       Blades together balance sums

                                                       on the fulcrum of the thumb,

                                                       and the fingers curling, grip,

                                                       guide the shearing, clipping snip.

                                                       But if you are handed-left,

                                                       then the cutting's not so deft.

                                                       Cloth folds droop and paper rips.

                                                       Perfect turns to crazy dips;

                                                       ragged edges so not neat, 

                                                       mark you different in defeat.

This week poetry Friday is hosted by
The Poem Farm.  Visit for more poetry.
Amy's dedication and experimentation
is inspiring to me.