At
Writers Connect this week organizer Oz brought in a selection of small intriguing ornaments as
prompts for a ten minute exercise. This session was- as usual- the
morning after the night before, being on a Sunday, and I'd had kind
of a weird night out in Manchester involving a group of very drunk
Welsh girls. Not as good as it sounds. But anyway, I was feeling kind
of melancholy. There was something about this sculpture
that
struck a chord with me. I felt like being a poetic bastard.
Unison
She
puts a cheek against his face
and
brings him to a warm embrace
his
view of her is now distorted
nomadic
plans are all but thwarted
becoming
one, a human boulder
with
his hand upon her shoulder
he
is there for her to hold
and
soon enough, they start to mould
into
an almost rock-like feature,
no
longer separate, now one creature
his
gratitude for having met her
has
turned him to an oaken texture
he
starts to think of when he met her
and
how his life became much better
he
plans to live in pure monogamy
alone
with her, cast in mahogany.
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