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War Cry

Contributed by screwge on Friday, 5th June 2009 @ 09:58:00 AM in AEST
Topic: ambiguous

Flamboyant girl, eager like a boy cooped inside a school all day,

Curdled to the break of dawn, war cry:
Her gullet a dagger in the night.

She wore a vest (to encapsulate the openness
Of a ripped shirt), war paint smeared to

The Sun's master rataplan, its beat so baritone
That it could not have been more dignified
(When laughter was quelled
Successfully).

And she could hear the school bells,

Usually pastoral,
Smelling like milk or gingham,
Or madras on a good day;

Not in that vein,
She could hear the Sun's decibels
Bellicose, and

She stoked a fire, roasted a marshmallow to its death,
Or as she heard, to a presage of
Giblets in that carousel of life
Gross debauchery)

Played against the Indians
In war skins, poached the rambling
Stuffed animals: an exotic hippo and elephant, and when she did,

When crossed by the teacher's word
And lanky shadow,

Cotton spilled forth, impertinent white,

Or else parturition of the marshmallow
From its seamed stomach,
Its makeshift,
Afterlived
Tent.

Copyright © screwge ... [ 2009-06-05 09:58:00]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: War Cry (User Rating: 1 )
by elle on Friday, 5th June 2009 @ 01:28:51 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

I feel often, exactly this flaming spirit. &/or if not I sorely want too. excellent encounter with the written word. . . thanks. elle

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