I tried to sound a rhapsodic note.
It fell like a star, like a flare,
like a cross upon a cathedral,
like a bell. And I felt sprightly.
Even swaggering, a bit aloof.
I’m not here to disparage anyone.
After all it’s all fiction,
apparitions. And me, I’m just
a secretary following the boss,
producing prodigious poems.
The day you took off, I’ll be
bewildered, too lost.
Prompt: Are you guys all too aware that April is coming to a close? Is it like two days away, the end of poeming, the end of poetry love, the end of the road? For those of you who are comatose, or would rather be doing something else productive, or unproductive, you don’t know what you’re missing till it’s missing. Don’t say I didn’t say. Get your secretary to make a note. Writers Digest Day 27 prompt is to write a take off poem. Read “take off” in any way you want. Take off your clothes. Take off your masks. Take off to another place. You know, just bloody take off. And if you’re the secretary, do not take off.