A Perfect Day Never Ends (or, If Chloe was a Poet)
The lazy breeze swoops in through the grassy lawn, tickles our necks,
barely a whisper; sitting back-to-back,
we exchange ideas for your next photo.
Chiaroscuro, maybe, of the canopy; an unbroken shadow.
I don't know. I dabble.
But I write great titles.
"A Perfect Day Never Ends."
Yours is the greatest of gifts; I only spin words.
But today we are not sparring with our chosen mediums
(An unflattering candid; a stinging poem!),
today we are looking for the feathers of bluebirds
for your scrapbook documentation of "The Birds of Oregon."
No wonder I write the titles.
We go back to the movie room, where you trade your skinny jeans for shorts
and we watch Donnie Darko in low light.
We do not care for the time of night.
In the soft glow of Donnie's school scene,
I turn to you to expound my theory,
but you are already asleep.
The poet in me smiles.
What photography and poetry share
is the elusive moment we often only capture
in our memories, fragile as the wings of butterflies.
through the cellar door
the artifact of living
tangent universe
What happened to you, my dear Donnie?
Why did they harrass you like this?
I see how sad you are, because I have been there.
So I know how it feels, confused, scared, hurt, just name these
preditors responsible for the actions that haunt you all your poor
short life. Say that forever I will remain in my world. Nothing will hurt me ever again.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.