Sunday, 27 April 2014

Day 27: Poem from a Photograph

Today's prompt is to write a type of ekphrastic poem based on a one of the photographs chosen on the NaPo site. 

I chose this one. (And couldn't resist a caption poem as well.)

The Blame Game

Says the pumpkin to the skeleton: 
'Why didn't you take your chance 
when you had it? I could've been 
a carriage to the future, a dream 
machine - instead of the root
of all your frustration
sitting here useless
looking  at the bones 
of who you used to be.'

Says the skeleton to the pumpkin: 
'There, there, it was your 
regret that chewed away 
at my flesh  every day. 
Now hollowed out, I haunt
my own life.' 


Death waits for us always 
within reach: outside our door, 
on the porch step, in a lush garden 
on a spring day, its gaping grin
locked lovingly on our wordly cares. 
Death has no concept
of aesthetics or timing.

Death lurks in all those moments 
missed, chances that in a puff 
of hesitation are rotten pumpkins 
with jack'o' lantern teeth: 
all the better to eat you with. 
Death looms large and unforgiving 
behind their shadows.

Death chatters ecstatically 
with disaster, claims it 
as a comrade, a confidante,
together they work dastardly
to trick and treat us into either 
appreciation or apprehension. 
Death loves scare tactics. 

Death deals no spare cards; 
it doesn't compromise, or care
just wants us to be ready,
to have sucked the marrow 
from the bones of life and 
at the end be content enough
to call its bluff.

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