Sunday, 5 February 2012

Magpie 103















When Esme sank into the mud
She held a prism of frozen blood,
And horrified, the passers-by
Had but one question: "Esme, why?
If this is all some kind of trick
We think your sense of humour's sick."

But Esme's fingers, tapering, sharp,
Are now elsewhere. And play the harp.

(With thanks to Magpie Tales for the picture)

25 comments:

  1. Lovely bit of poetry and I just LOVE the picture!

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  2. Good for Esme! Typical headstones are soooo boring...!lol

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  3. I prism of frozen blood...I love it...

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  4. I enjoyed your rhyme and metre. It adds lightness to a weighted subject. Very nicely done, Francis. Thank you for sharing.

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  5. Great! A prism of frozen blood...love that.

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  6. Your humour is a stimulating cocktail - double wry.

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  7. smiles...may she rest in peace...

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  8. Hahaha. Personally, I always preferred a harp to diamonds. :)

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  9. The 'prism of frozen blood' is an elemental image that could burst forth in many directions. Fine piece.

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  10. indeed a very good poeem...thanks for sharing

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  11. This was a good poem, no joke...

    http://wanderwithoutbeinglost.blogspot.com/2012/02/grave-so-fine.html

    Wander

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  12. "Frozen blood".. Wonderful imagery!

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  13. prism of frozen blood..love it...and now Esme's fingers play the harp

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  14. Laughing in appreciation here...

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  15. Your sense of humour is sharp and wonderfully funny!!!

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  16. Thanks very much, everyone. I'm not a poet, but I do enjoy writing my Magpies!

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  17. Dear Frances: Lovely abstract vision of those "stuck in the mud" with their heart still on their sleeve...no the feeling~! A funny and sweet poem of LOVE; LOVE IT~!!!

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