The photo above is the last that I took in March because bushboy asks for it, and in the poem, the murder of peace as it happens.
Another soul-stirring poem in the prompt today, Alfredo Aguilar’s “Palomar Mountain” from Waxwing. And let me add another cheerful one: “The Date (Notes to Self)” by Romana Iorga. It is from 2018 and written to a similar prompt that we had yesterday. What a difference a few years make. To me this poem is all that zest which we collectively don’t have any more.
Prompt 5: “I’d like to challenge you to write a poem about a mythical person or creature doing something unusual – or at least something that seems unusual in relation to that person/creature.”
Well… God talks. That’s mythical enough for me. It really happened too, at least the first part.
Murder of peace In 2014, two (white) children release two (white) doves while the Pope smiles on from his Vatican window and calls for the end of violence in the Ukraine. Moments later the doves are attacked by a crow and a seagull. Enters God as a mythical entity: “You two shall escape this time but eight years pass and it is another thing entirely. Peace is murdered by the crows of war. Russia invades Ukraine and goes straight for Chernobyl. Sean Penn shoots a documentary. Russian novels and classical music start raising eyebrows. In Slovenia, your friend’s punk rock band is thrown out of their rehearsal space. It’s a nuclear shelter.” God thinks a little, snaps his fingers, and it’s 2022. He goes on: “Remember that old graffiti? It was so good. How did it go… Suppose they gave a war and nobody remembers the last
Bushboy’s Last on the Card rules are simple:
1. Post the last photo on your SD card or last photo on your phone for the 31st March.
2. No editing – who cares if it is out of focus, not framed as you would like or the subject matter didn’t cooperate.
3. You don’t have to have any explanations, just the photo will do.
4. Create a Pingback to this post or link in the comments.
5. Tag “The Last Photo”.
This is mine:
The last day in my NaPoWriMo history
Look here, dog.
Eyes crack open, you wash.
It’s starting to smell.
Wake up to my hand.
2019: Misheard villanelle
“I’m a back door man living in a land down under where women glow and men plunder. The men know but the little girls don’t understand.”
2020: Comes the time
Comes the time when people heal by touch and taste through skin and my ikigai is finally found as the Supreme Unifier of All Good. Comes the time when all fun is taken out of poetry, but not quite yet. Naked. True. Free. Fun.
2021: One human reserve
I’m learning how it feels. They fence you in. You live, run, breed, sleep and survive, while elsewhere your species slows to less and less. They know and tell you nothing. You feed. They want you fat. Winds promise hunger. You study rabbits; so naive. You bark hello to dog friend and he barks back. You haven’t met today.
This day in my blogging history
2014: The body doesn’t lie (Taken the first summer upon moving to Tuscany at 43.)