by Bill Yarrow
the tall, thin ectomorph sat
on the verdant, green grass
as the unclothed naked woman
on the Sunday-picnic blanket
poured white cow's milk
into a vodka shot glass.
overhead a two-winged bird,
flying fast, moved quickly across
a stuffed, cotton-puffed,
robin's-egg, light-blue sky
as two swimming swans swam by
pale white in the whispering wave.
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To Osric
A poem about how NOT to write.
This poem appeared in Festival Writer, The Festival of Language E-Journal.
Thanks, Jane Carman.
This poem appears in "Against Prompts."
https://www.amazon.com/Against-Prompts-Bill-Yarrow/dp/1943170282
I like the way you've overpainted this scene Bill. Nicely written writing.
*
Just one more obsessive brushstroke and just one more...
I enjoyed this and was fun to imagine it read aloud!
Trippy.*
A bit repetitive, but I've read much worse. *
Image is everything. Wonderful visuals. Great writing, Bill.
Milk, friends, is white.
We must not say so.
Swans, friends, are white.
We must not say so.
Grass, friends, is green.
We must not say so.
Birds, friends, have two wings.
We must not say so.
(Apologies to John Berryman)
Thanks for the comments, everyone!
Good advice, good, good advice.
I was the swam swimming by looking at that robin-egg blue sky.^
Thanks, Gary and Gary!
Funny!
Thanks, Epiphany!