Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 18
Rules: Write a poem for LPiA on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for the month of November.
Topic : Write a poem inspired by a black and white photo.
Form : Any
Line requirements: 8 or more
Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish.
Questions?
Rorschach Shadows
imply face
lacking trace
to be certain
and if the
light source
shifts, it's a whole
different person
From back in the days
of black and white,
I still have the photo
of our family standing
at the end of the driveway
on Sycamore Avenue.
Though that photo
is no longer possible,
I still keep it close,
and look at it often.
Che Guevara,
his body displayed on a makeshift table,
wounds revealed, watched over
by his executioners:
time plagiarized
in black and white, a quantum instant,
a banishment we the living
accept in place of the real.
I always do my best
But you do not get my best today.
Two extra large poodles
For my last appointments.
We ready quote 2-4 hours
for a single dog on a normal day.
You called asking how long after two hours.
I've already beat myself up
and now I'm rushing.
I'm not sorry, just let me work.
Tools
I’m looking at a photograph
black and white, 1930s
(really, shades of gray)–
it’s the “Reich Labor Corps”
marching past swastika-bearing
Nuremberg reviewing stands
with shouldered shovels
at the goose-step.
It’s said they marched
with entrenching tools
for lack of rifles.
Yet older men knew well
and must have told their sons
that while rifles may at times
discourage enemies
good trenches save your life.
Life Isn't Black and White
There's a box
that hides
contains a life
some tears
snapshots of memories
color gone
Kodachrome to sepia
life always
shades of gray
Anastasia
Even now, a saint
lives a life
most privileged,
takes a picture
of herself:
eyes crossed, gums bearing
false teeth, some flowers
in her hand, her sister
in the background
sleeping.
Millions of others bore
their lives in more Christian ways and met
less Christian ends and yet
the Church never remembered them
by name---
Oh, but if you're lettered enough
to get this, if you're aged enough
to ponder this, then you were once
fourteen, then you were once
some kind of royal---