Poetry Prompt #323 – PLAYING FAVORITES #6
from POETIC BLOOMINGS
“Playing Favorites” is as simple as choosing a favorite poet/poem (world famous or just famous in our own little garden) and picking a line or title of one of their poems and using it as an inspiration for your new piece. Incorporate the line/title into your poem (remembering to credit the source and poet always).
This is a two part poem inspired by Mary Shelley, author of Frankenstein.
“It’s alive, it’s alive! —Frankenstein, the 1931 film.”
Part I
A PATCHWORK OF SORTS
I am
a Frankenstein
of sorts.
A
patchwork of abuse,
neglect, and pain.
Of
rugged terrain
acreage of mines and egg shells.
A
land where thorns
and thistles flock.
A
dichotomy of
love, enmity.
A
contradiction
of wills.
A
lab’s creation–
world’s abomination.
A
composition of
concert, disharmony.
A
string of psalms,
weeping, and wailing.
A
composite of strength,
and weakness.
A
spine of a beast,
nerves of a laggard.
I
am Frankenstein—
It’s alive, it’s alive!
Benjamin Thomas
Part II
“Beware; for I am fearless, therefore powerful.” – Mary Shelley Frankenstein
BEWARE
Should I embrace, or brace
for a kiss or assault?
An incoming hug
Is a knife to the heart
Why do the people fear
what you have created?
I have sown abundant kindness
yet my hands reap mockery
The soil is now unsuitable
breeding a harvest of vanity
I feel the weight of emptiness
the ineptness of my laboring
I taste the wicked fruit of anguish
drunk with the aged wine of anger
I pause, step into the day with boldness
sauntering along simplicity’s rhythm
Beware for I am fearless
therefore powerful
Benjamin Thomas
Inspired by two quotes and a poem by William Blake.
“Flowers are the music of the ground.
From Earth’s lips spoken without sound.”
-Edwin Curran
“Flowers grow out of dark moments.”
– Carita Kent
The line: “Arise from their graves and aspire” – Ah! Sun-flower by William Blake
THE SOUND OF MUSIC
Flowers grow out of dark moments.
They suffer in silence, agony of season,
the sure atrophy of splendid beauty.
When its glory is rendered inert;
Its pride sluggish, withers,
and returns to the dirt.
Flowers are the music of the ground.
Isolated, their irksome path begins unseen,
not green, but a timid auburn brown.
Arise from their graves and aspire!
They yield to the calling of the sun.
Blushing together as they sing, as a journey has begun.
Benjamin Thomas