Day 17. I’ve just got in from Loose Muse, which was exceedingly ace. And I didn’t do my daily poem! I am doing it now. It’s a bit of a ramble but nevermind.
Prompts I’ve used today, actually I’ve stolen some words from poems in the Loose Muse anthology and also for the ekphrasis part used the photography of Thomas Hoepker:
the bowl tipped and fell, making pretty
of the air that coated it. With a smash
it made pretty the pieces that it was;
before it fell the pieces were hidden
inside it’s whole self. Then it became the pieces.
the man’s lips almost kissed the man’s head
in front of him, they stood close enough
to smell the sweat, that particular odour
personal, if he had let his tongue portrude
he would have licked the man’s skull, the shiny skin.
there is a grace to loading a gun, to taking an insult
to mopping a floor, you learn it by the way you can count
the blisters on your hardened palms, there is a craft
to making a bed, to letting the callous skin talk for you
shake my hand, my fingers take hold
of your smooth talking tongue and pull it
from your mouth.