Cancer/writing Journal # 80
Why I Like Poetry
She enters the room slowly,
Some extra flesh, prudence and damaged joints
Delaying her progress.
It’s been a while since she’s exuded sexuality
But that’s all right.
Time moves on and that’s the world of her grandchildren
Who are growing so fast!
Now she’s a roosting hen.
But Oh, her words!
They are a black lithe figure springing to the top of the garden wall,
Blade and eyes aflame in the California sun.
She weaponizes a flower pot,
Sending it with booted instep, soccer ball style,
At the villain who has to duck not to be hit.
She advances along the top of the wall with light steps,
Recalling a minuet, then the tango.
She closes in; her rapier with strong surprising strokes,
Putting fear in the villain’s eye.
With a cunning thrust, she cuts a rope,
Releasing a wooden water bucket,
Clunking him, drenching him, rattling him.
Her blade, ever so sharp, does playful but dangerous mischief.
Zip, Ziiip, faster than the eye can follow,
Leaving on his torso a red ink “P”, the rounded part executed with a flourish.
She is amused. He is not.
The villain is an accomplished swordsman.
His skill he uses to advance his ugly, bullying schemes.
But against her and the muse, he stands no chance.
...
A really interesting and unique personification of Poetry. My favorite line is "She weaponizes a flower pot."
ReplyDeleteInteresting, too, your thoughts on being pleased with a job well done as opposed to thinking you are hot stuff, so to speak. I think it's cool to think, "Wow, I did a good job on that!" but not "Wow, I am the best whatever ever!"
I think the question of whether Poetry has sexual allure or not is a fresh and interesting perspective.