Burn the ordinary parts of today
Write to the rhythm of the gravedigger
Let your natural intelligence play
With a small riddle and make it bigger
Crash your cowardice into blank silence
Search the wreckage for what remains of truth
Remember how beauty kept its balance
Between cynical age and callow youth
Introduce the mundane to its strangeness
Let thought get caught in a flypaper plot
Repudiate formulaic sameness
Scorch the cliches and serve what remains hot
Treat every syllable like the last
Listen to fire; hold its music fast
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
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Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
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More stories from D. J. Reddall and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Missing Ingredient
The first time I saw her, she was wearing a velvety, red ribbon in her hair. She carried a small leather backpack everywhere. She searched the forest by turning stones, checking beneath shrubs, listening to the wind as if it might carry an answer.
By Imola Tóthabout 19 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
"Let thought get caught in a flypaper plot" I loved the way this line sounded, the thought, caught and plot rhymed very nicely!
Your sonnet is truly amazing. I love the images you've woven into a tapestry of beautiful, transcendent words. Well done.
I've got to echo Rachel, this is absolutely brilliant! Each stanza full of power and insight. I always love the creative use of striking images to divide the stanzas in this format, too!
So creative
Just brilliant. This is beyond deftly done. I can't quote one line. It's all brilliant. Angry too. Loved it. Might read it again later too to mull it over.