The Necromancy Whim Poem by MARINA GIPPS
The Necromancy Whim
All the townspeople disappeared
except for a man with very rotten teeth.
Fetal positioned on his manifesto,
he can proofread in his sleep.
But today he is dreaming he is
away on a Roman holiday,
away from truly ordinary people.
He is with flag-draped coffins;
He is with forlorn hand,
laden with shrapnel.
But most importantly,
night-riding on his bicycle
without a light.
Well, you brought this image to life, Marina. Nice write! I like the title. 'Necromancy Whim'...a 'tad' grim, although good.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 2:21:56 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Marina, Read it once, scratched my head, Read it twice, meaning still fled, Read it thrice, crawled under bed, No need for fourth, glad I'm not dead! Ray