ManicDDaily

Image by Francesca Woodman

Below are two short and rather silly poems posted for The Mag, a writing blog hosted by Tess Kincaid with a picture prompt each week.  I tend to do my own pictures, but found it very hard to do my own version of this image by Francesca Woodman, a young woman photographer who sadly took her life at a very young age.  I actually found it rather hard to write about this image at all – perhaps the reason for the comic direction.   (Do not feel obligated to read both – first very silly, second a revised sonnet.) 

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An Evening At The Triton Club

Okay, they were gits with swollen–um–noses–
but they’d paid top price for these very poses:
a girl with a shell in a brown paper wrapper,
a girl (without shell) still managing dapper–
Better than cake-jumping–(gooey as hell;
frosting and hair–euewww–didn’t mix well)
Besides this big conch could double as club,
perfect for either a grope or a (s)nub.
She’d sneak it home too when her shift was over
her taxi becoming the white cliffs of Dover,
her couch, the sea side, her bed the far shore,
as she kept by her head the caught oceans’ roar,
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Different Tastes in Mythical Creatures

Some go for vampires, caught by the idea
of themselves archly pursued, the notion
of life as the personal cup of tea
of the ruthless.  Others look to the ocean,
scanning fantastic waves for gleam of gleam,
twist of twist, the well-hipped curve of tail;
their magic’s found in the muscular seam
between breast and flipper, flesh and scale.
They crave submergence, the dive to the unknown,
an elegance clothed in its own wet skin–
Eve and the serpent combined–slicked hair let down,
finding their idyll in the dare, plunge, swim.
But some (aforementioned) fear to go headfirst–
we’ll just wait, dryly, to slake another’s thirst.

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