A Poem for the Primes
He told the most sarcastic of stories
and leapt the most fantastic of creeks
and all of his math riddles
were unsolvable.
Biting Invective,
He named himself.
She splashed her brush back into the pot
Heedless of the damage to the fine
Bristles.
She picked up another brush
and ran her fingers over the belly
It felt like the bunched strands
of her child's hair.
As she plaited the darkling locks
Her blind eyes smiled--
She spoke a story of her childhood friend,
A rascally creature,
with bandit's eyes
and a fanciful tail.
For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Grace O'Malley challenged me with "Earthy Watercolor Blog Mom meets Biting Invective, the Prime-Number Raccoon." and I challenged Niqui with "I don't care what you write, as long as Dr. Zhivago is in it. "
posted by Bran mac Feabhail at 3:32 PM
3 Comments:
I can't really critique poetry but I will say I liked this. It's fun and bounces around just enough so I can see the rascally raccoon spouting off his,crazy math riddles :)
When my Mom was a kid, her house was in the suburbs, but across from a field. She used to play in that field all the time, climbing trees, rolling around in the mud (yeah, really) and yes, rescuing wildlife. This made me think of her, though in her case, it was a squirrel.
Carrie - thanks :)
Jester Queen - I grew up in the woods, myself; I'd never dream of purposefully getting near a raccoon--they may attack if they feel threatened...
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