Not that Mercy

Not that tenuous flamingo
red in its wetness
it drips in pieces
cursing its too thin legs
tripping over memories of Mumbai

Not that antelope
stirring images of Delhi
it strays from the herd
pounding its hooved feet
on elephant hides
long since dried into pavement

Not that child
hiding in the well
watching time devour coins
that pass for wishes

Not that vulture
shredding flesh from courtyards
raging against a too blue sky

Have mercy on the pitiless
lost in power
lost in the handle of an axe

Have mercy on that child
whose prayers flutter as flamingo knees knock

Have mercy on the vulture circling with
strips of flesh that flow
like ribbons
scattering syllables
with each thwack
of the executioner’s axe

~bwarren 23
The prompt for Day 6 asked that we look at a poem in a language we do not read, and write a poem based on it. The poem I selected can be found here. To be honest, I read it in English once, and based the poem on my impressions from both the English and Peter Verhelst’s original poem.

You are always right.

Anger eats a hole in your heart

you try to fill it with straw and denial
but teeth push up through the edges of the hole
and feed on the pumping muscled flesh
widening your vitriol
feeding on the bile you spit against
anyone’s apology

refusing to accept responsibility for wrongs
perceived and real
your heart feeds on
you did nothing
and don’t understand why
other people widen their berth, stifled laughter turning to
pity as you pass, your chin turned up in defiance
face twitching against your heart’s dying pleas

you deserve so much more

bwarren 23
Day 5 prompt.


a holy choir of trees lines
rows of white folding chairs
like a song with no music

a child shoos a fluttering of magpies while
a red-winged blackbird screeches circles around the bride
her wedding dress covered in hand-stitched crystal rhinestones and pearls
the bullet flies back into the barrel of the gun
as crows march down Main Street

stopping to peck at horse manure from yesterday’s wedding march parade

~bwarren 23

The day 2 prompt birthed this one.


this impenetrable image whispers hints
of my face
of my fashion
of my privilege
of my light

who was I ?

slivers of recognition stand upon spindles
as fragile as flamingo legs
all bone
no muscle
ready to snap into panic

startle me
wake me without breath

keep me from decaying in daguerreotypes

~bwarren 23

While chasing today’s NaPo prompt, a link led me to Decayed Daguerreotypes. The images I viewed threaded today’s poem. My engine has started.