In staccato light
that the sun throws
through the blinds
I face your music
Your voice ricochets
in accusation's gloom
unspoken words form
a conga line from
you to me.
Like a twisting black mamba
we dance our mambo
one foot out
and then the other.
-kls 2011
This poem was written in response to the picture above which is courtesy of Magpie Tales. Write your own and link here to share with the gang.
For more information on black mambas -- look here.
7 comments:
Wow! This is wonderful, you have captured one story from this photo perfectly.
Interesting poem. Sad, but striking.
This is a good example of an extended metaphor, where you use music/dance steps to convey bickering.
Love the thought of dancing our way through life ... better if it's a happy dance. I enjoyed your Magpie.
unspoken words form
a conga line from
you to me.
Can't they just!
A conga line from you to me. Love it. LOVE it!
Life gives you chaos and you
make a conga line, letting
the latin rhythms drown out
the acrid taste of dissent;
masterful; and a nearly perfect
blend of fun and sadness,
creative resignation.
Liked the mag very much.
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