Here's another of the poems I was working on earlier on the year. I presented it at the reading I was part of and I've since sent it off to a journal... I'm still waiting to hear. I thought I would share it here in the meantime.
Cheers,
Deb
________
Little Pig, Little Pig...
There was a fourth little pig
a ‘black sheep’ the others don’t like to talk about
didn’t buy a bundle of twigs
or even straw
certainly wasn’t into conventional bricks and mortar.
Instead he wove around himself
walls of words
in the fashion of a wordy igloo.
Transparent passages formed windows,
dark thoughts became heavy drapes to cover them
and keep out peering Curiosity.
And far from being blown away by the ravenous Wolf
the little pig lived safely cocooned
in stories,
keeping the world at bay.
All potential intruders began reading
and before they knew it they were searching
to find out how it ends.
Looping calligraphy papered the walls
of his imagination-warm living room
and the fourth little pig reclined
hidden
behind bewitching literature,
writing poems in the air
to keep the Wolf out.
