GloPoWriMo: April 27th

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Today’s prompt  was to write a poem of long lines. I like my lines long and rambly so this was good. I went with the Whitman style and stuck to the 17 syllable suggestion, which was also good.

 

He snaps each branch
as the sky begins the closing act of swallowing itself- this half
paralysed, this half performed with a splayed brush, harsh hand.
He snaps each branch
and builds a stack, the soil secretes a sweet dullness and flowers gather
and contract into fists in a weekday routine of rolling shutters.
He strips the stack
and stacks the strips. I congratulate the beauty on its beauty and prescribe
an award. I take a photograph but this isn’t enough. It does
not capture. I record but then delete. Colour is caught but the tone
and nuance of scent are misrepresented. I want it jarred, preserved
in wax. I want the miracle contained to a dusty middle shelf.
He builds the stack
and strikes the match. Smoke rolls, first in silver coughs, then in long white cigar-
ettes. The tiger claws snatch at the fallen curtain of sky, fire is
such a hungry beast.

 

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