Chemical Attack, Syria, April 2017
Walls left
in place and cores of joist
but seeping through the doors
of perception a fog of more than war, that takes
all space, all time–no place can escape
one’s skin, no line stand long
between lungs, breath; no barricade bar
this death.
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For April and Real Toads prompt by Bjorn Rudberg on space time. Heartbreaking what is happening.
Drawing mine, based on Goya.
Persisting
They didn’t want her to find
any treasure.
When her eyes went out, she went
feelingly,
learning with hands’ crawl the touch
of ore.
But when her hands were taken,
such methods worked no more,
her mouth could not walk, her tongue despaired of carrying
even the smallest gems.
In the sway of that dismemberment,
something gave way
to wings, the black beads of
blinkless eyes,
and though, this was wondrous
in itself, it took her some time not to miss the stones
she’d so long pocketed,
song still foreign to her,
words no longer familiar.
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Poem of sorts for April, 2017, open link prompt on Real Toads, hosted by Marian,
Pic is mine, pencil on paper, all rights reserved for poem/pic, as always.
Fall (2016)
There were
no apples.
Last year, the flies were boozy
with the glut;
but in this season, the flies made do
with dust, woozing only
about silled windowpanes.
Mounding the apples
was more fun,
though we should not have picked
so many–when they oozed, we tossed
some back, as if in recompense, as if to defend
the orchard against all dearth,
as if apples could help
with such things.
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Poem for Magali’s prompt on Real Toads to write of fruit stillborn (or other things) in the face of climate change. For April. (Not sure if I’m doing a poem a day, but will see.) Pic is not exactly apple pic, but a recent one of mine–all rights reserved.
I’m sorry to be late reciprocating visits; will get there!
ManicDDaily 
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