A year's worth of poems, every week for 52 weeks, spanning 2023 and 2024, plus the year following, from August 2024 to August 2025.(provided I live that long, of course).
Thank you, Allan Charles. I've contested the Charlie Chaplin thing a couple of times, won once, if I remember correctly. But it's the kind of thing I try when bored and have nothing better to do - just doesn't seem to have happened lately.
High on the rocks like a sore thumb,
you stand on the hand of the cape,
bright white with a bloody red nail,
while the waves your fingers do strum.
Overhead in the summer’s blue light
the clouds wisp their gentle designs,
but in the mirror of the tide’s latest pool
a darker world speaks of the night.
When the storm stirs the waters to rage
and the mariner’s blind in the dark,
then comes the moment to grasp -
your thumb’s up to your cue on the stage.
Line count: 12
Rhymed abca
For Promptly Poetry 4, Week 3, 2023
Prompt: As per illustration.
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