Day 22
Prompt: this one
comes from the poet and fiction writer Todd Dillard, who provided this idea on his twitter account a
few months ago. The idea is to write a poem in which two things have a fight.
Two very unlikely things, if you can manage it. Like, maybe a comb and a
spatula. Or a daffodil and a bag of potato chips. Or perhaps your two things
could be linked somehow – like a rock and a hard place – and be utterly sick of
being so joined. The possibilities are endless!
The art of drawing
It’s just a
trick of the light,
this slight
of moonscape paper,
the edges faded,
jaded, kind of.
A stroke of
charcoal pauses.
Reconsidered,
his bland idea turns
on its side,
snap-ricochets, becomes
a suspenseful
thing of mystery,
a curve, a sigh,
an artificial high.
She steps
shyly into the empty scene
from out of
it, finds life from nothing,
enters his
heart as his pure imagination
finds her,
scribbles in her loose curls.
A heart-shaped
face, soft, full lips,
slightest touch,
an upturn to her nose,
flash of pink
across the cheekbones,
so high as to
lend a paper cut.
She smiles
and the landscape grows,
a woodland cross-hatched
behind her.
Curves and
lines, a crescendo in form,
lithe arms upraised,
she dances alone
in this blown
bubble she inhabits.
You can
almost smell her, feel her,
the lightness
of her walk, and then…
the music jars.
An error, a smudge!
The artist’s
hand reaches for correction,
rubs the foul
point with the eraser’s edge,
but it
streaks, ruins the silk of her dress.
A hard
thrust, and it bounces off the wall.
He sits back,
shoves the easel and scowls,
scanning the studio
for his arch enemy.
Knocked, the
charcoal drops and splinters.
From the wooden
floor, an eraser chuckles.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, April 22, 2024