No Cure

Shawna at Rosemary Mint issued a challenge to use the following words in an original poem:

blazon, sensescent, rust, ticklish, savage, caracol, potpourri, kiwi, cure, eclipse. Once again, not a happy result; might have to give these another look when in a different mood.

Senescence came upon him early,
He had watched his parents gracefully
embrace the passing of time,
seeming to notice age in the way that
subtile potpourri will tickle the nose.
He would have no such adventure,
savaged by disease with no cure
that marked his body like blazon rust
marring exposed iron.
Denied a cure, dreams dismissed,
he would never visit Caracol, or
New Zealand to eat kiwi from the vine,
or dance with his daughters
on their
wedding day.



Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts

10 responses to “No Cure

  1. There is no way that I could have written this with those words. But you have succeeded meaningfully – brilliant.

  2. Shawna

    I have a feeling no matter how happy the selected words may be, you could turn them dark.

    I originally had a typo in “senescent”; sorry about that. Feel free to fix it in your list as well. 🙂

    Oh wow, I LOVE this: “marked his body like blazon rust
    marring exposed iron”

    I love your use of “kiwi.” I think that is going to be the most interesting turn in every poem submitted … how on earth to work in “kiwi.” 🙂 I think it softens the blow of death and missing his daughters’ weddings, adding a bit of humor … at least to me! I think specific details like “visiting Caracol” and “eating kiwi” really bring a poem to life.

  3. Glenn Buttkus

    Good work, Mark. It really is intriguing to use the same words processed through other poetics, other poets. I managed to find a little levity in my piece through self-deprecation.

  4. Wow, Mark… I’m impressed, but then I always am when I visit your blog.

  5. ugh not dancing with the daughters on the wedding day…that one stung…

  6. Anne Katherine

    Very sad one but realistic as well.
    I liked “subtle potpourri will tickle the nose” and the image of eating kiwi from the vine.

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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