Day 21 Prompt: a poem which incorporates wild, surreal images. Try to play around with writing that doesn’t make formal sense, but which engages all the senses and involves dream-logic.
Picture per Pexels
Ours’ is an Open House
Trees growing at such a rate they scratch at the window
with a language that says crash, crash; ‘Now let the tigers in;”
one tiger at this window and one tiger over there. What does
a happy tiger smell like? I know what he feels like. I can sense
his deep purring.
We open the door, “Come in,” I say to the giraffe who arrived
by yet another way. However, he can’t quite make it. Which, was
a shame said he. And because it was wishful thinking on his part
the roof lifted right out of his way. He was much harder to read
as he now strolled front door to back.
The Tigers are laughing, so pleased with events are they.
Come back the tigers and I call. But he’s out of here. Crash went
the windows again as the tigers took off after the giraffe.
I thought I knew the smell of fear. But not when it’s a giraffe.
“And that,” I say, “is the last time we’ll hold Open House.”
Benita H. Kape © 21.4.2019
We have neither tigers nor giraffes in my country so this has to be surreal.
benitakape 