Tear and its mother … black into middle eye
Painful though it may be
It carried on through the sky
Opened by what wasn’t
Zeppelins visited, their generous gifts
And showered the people below with them
That they were totally soaked
The rain kept pouring
She thought … this will never stop … unlike life
Glancing down, she picked up a knife.
This is a collective poem from the Literary Potlatch, written by the participants on the day, with each of them only able to see the previous line. At present, the image accompanying it is a stock photo but we would really love someone to respond to the poem visually, as only an original image can possibly do it justice. Full credit will of course be given. Please email firstname.lastname@example.org if you’re interested in creating something special we can share. Thank you.
And here is today’s Medway Monday linky, if you’d like to share your blog.