His shaven head made me laugh.
A monk-like child. Isn’t it enigmatic?
That’s who I see, anyway. Only
his arrogance is apocalyptic.
This is how I inhabit, where always
there’s a verb. The sun comes out.
I read about meteors and paraphrase,
the green hidden in everything.
What’s not to love? Mutable as sin,
obscure as curse. Your breath is one.
O being dissatisfied, why, much good
it did us, rattling the verse.
Prompt: You guys celebrate Halloween? Of course you do. Strange tradition this is, celebrating with headstones, ghouls, and whatnots. A house of horrors that really isn’t. I read a quote today about how plants give humans oxygen so that we can in turn fertilize them when we return to dust. Is that macabre or what? Maybe death is so deep a mystery that we need to turn it into dark comedy. I guess this is turning out to be a halloweeny/death prompt. But read Dylan Thomas’s poem:
Your breath was shed
Invisible to make
About the soiled undead
Night for my sake,
A raining trail
Intangible to them
With biter’s tooth and tail
And cobweb drum,
A dark as deep
My love as a round wave
To hide the wolves of sleep
And mask the grave.
Death is pretty much meaningless without love. So make your poem about love & death. Here’s Bob Dylan and George Harrison to help out too.