He took photos
To capture his favourite child
To frame the world
Or his vision of it.
She Painted
Tin paintings
To collect
And decorate
Her world.
A sun, a moon
And Pyramids;
Grey skyscrapers
For criticism,
Dead babies for freedom.
She was crushed,
Childless
And from her bed
Passion plays
Out with pictures
Of her pets,
Painted, "with no consideration"
Although she cared
About them all.
A jungle is always
In limited colour.
A monkey sits
In her arms,
Unaware of her presence.
She - unaware of his,
Her black hair a solid mass
Individual strands - there, but not seen.
Skeletons leap from the cupboard
Elegantly smiling.
Comments
magicdarer | April 28, 2013 - 02:27
I can't understand it at all, but I like it.
The audio does it justice. It's as if the voice has put flesh on the skeletons..
Maybe would like to do that to some of my poems...
Reading it again, I can maybe only think of the trauma of a stillborn for the mother... that's all.
littleditty | April 28, 2013 - 10:01
It was a quick write, looking at Frida Khalo's paintings and life in an Art lesson - the audio was done by a friend who didnt know about the crash she was in -spooky!