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Random poetry, Relationships Add comments

Hi there 🙂

From textfixer

Please excuse the shadow across today’s screenshot, our tablet just seemed to capture it that way.  I enlisted the tablet because our broadband box’s cable is dead and we are awaiting a replacement; so I was using my data package in the meantime!

I read the first word as ‘brutal’ while writing them down at the top of my page (thanks to that damn shadow…), so by the time I got to the last word, I was forming the foggy outline of a poem about sport.  I then started the timer and quickly re-read the words to see if I could put a verse together, and realised my mistake!

Consequently, the poem is about something entirely different.  Not at all sure of the whole background (spotting a trend here?!) but my speaker is clearly elated!

 

Burial   Free   Horizon   Document   Wearable   Junkyard   Destructive   Guild   Condemned

After the burial

I felt so free,

Like every horizon

Was there for me to aim for.

 

The will came

And went.

Just a document

Of no real import.

 

He’d been dressed

In his last wearable suit;

His possessions

Now in auctions or junkyard-bound.

 

That destructive force

Gone forever!

The rest of his ‘guild’

Melting into my shadow.

 

No longer condemned,

No longer forced to live that nightmare –

I turned my face to the sky,

And breathed deep.

 

Pink poetry

As usual, can you shed any light on what has happened here?  Who was this (now dead) man and who is the speaker? I have a few ideas jumping about my head, but I’d like to see how others interpret it. I always find it fascinating how my words can mould themselves to others’ outlooks 😉

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While typing up the above poem, and having a look at all the words again, another wee idea came into my head: to pair them up in a line each, as the combinations made me smile!

 

We had been burial-free for weeks;

On our horizon: a document that would change the future.

Excited by our ‘Wearable Junkyard Chic’,

The press had been a less destructive guild than usual.

For once, it seemed, our business had risen above the condemned list…

 

Additional scribblings

I think this second poem definitely counts as nonsense poetry, but these things tickle me!!  Skirts out of bike tyres, and skimpy tops from the chains, anyone?  There are a few sites out there rocking Junkyard Chic, and a clothing line called Junkyard, but my quick Google didn’t come back with what I had in mind…make it happen, Ms Westwood!  Or am I missing a site?

(The second poem took about 5 minutes to write)

How would you have used these words?

Make my comments look busy, people! 😛

 

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