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| Image courtesy of Magpie Tales/Skip Hunt |
Rusty Flower
It sits silent and still; blades do not move.
Instead of a sirocco-god, it's now
only a rusted, black-eyed Susan. You’ve
got to look close, in order to see how
it once spun silver…centrifugal pow-
ered. At present, on corrugated sheets
of metal, it meets metal and dies. Trow…
Time, in time, eventually defeats
turbines, wind-sails and the human being.
We all get old if we’re not in some groove.
Yet, in knowing this, it’s somehow freeing
since (save for self) there’s nothing else to prove.
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Notes: The poetic form is Pantoum. It was inspired by the above picture-as-prompt, kindly provided for by Magpie Tales. It's not my usual humorous(ish) piece, granted, but the words just seemed to come out that way and I decided to go with it.
On the other hand, regarding humor, perhaps I should re-title my post "Fan Page.' Just kidding.
Skilled rhyming; enjoyable.
ReplyDeleteBerowne - thanks!
ReplyDeleteGood, albeit a bit odd. ;)
ReplyDeleteGreat form, Randi, and the comparison to a black-eyed Susan, very astute. I'm hoping they make the new ones with American steel, not Chinese!! Amy
ReplyDeleteI also love the black-eyed Susan analog. I would love to have a sculpture like this in my yard!
ReplyDeleteInterestingly done, and well. (But I would have loved "Fan Page"!)
ReplyDelete— K
Kay, Alberta, Canada
An Unfittie's Guide to Adventurous Travel
A rusted black-eyed Susan...I love that.
ReplyDelete