His words were footsteps made
in wet snow,
imprints cold and heavy
hesitant but rushed as crossing roads
in winter, careful not to slip.
Through puckered lips his breath —
was a bourbon hearse,
hefty with the lard of age,
still he smirked at death…
Today Lilian hosts at dVerse poetics and gives us a number of graffiti images to use. The sad clown seemed like a safe bet.
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November 14, 2017
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Sharing my thoughts, poems, travel & art
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Wow! Just WOW! Setting this in the weight of snow….and these words “a bourbon hearse,
hefty with the lard of age,
still he smirked at death…”
A powerful response to this piece of street art. I thought this image was haunting and your words have verified that.
“A bourbon hearse” – you’ve reminded me of a sad and scary clown we saw once. He really needed to retire. It was quite disturbing, as is this little number.
Fantastic response Bjorn ~ I specially love: was a bourbon hearse,
hefty with the lard of age,
still he smirked at death…
This was a good one, B. Great first line.
Just looked at the images… that was the best… and you created a story from it.
Hope you can find an image to write to Ted
I didn’t like the others, and not touching the clown after reading your masterpiece.
Say… can we expect a Cherita from you anytime soon?
I liked the idea of still smirking at death in spite of everything and the “bourbon hearse” breath.
I love the title, Bjorn, which is so expressive, and then I read the opening lines and melted – you know I don’t like clowns but this one made me sad. I found these lines effective and banana skin clown-like:
‘hesitant but rushed as crossing roads
in winter, careful not to slip’
The sadness poured out of the lines:
‘Through puckered lips his breath —
was a bourbon hearse’,
A bourbon hearse – that is a loaded line there. (No pun intended) But it tells a whole story in just a few words. I wouldnt mind hearing more of his story though. He is probably not much different than the rest of us – one decision different. That is why I dont mind hanging with the homeless, cause they aint no different than us – but just one decision.
I’ve learnt something new: a bourbon hearse from breath. This must be one of santa’s helpers gone rogue!
“Through puckered lips his breath —
was a bourbon hearse” … Holy cats; that is fantastic! The ending as well.
I think this is about your dad.
Awesome… and you did not disappoint me in your choice of pictures.
a perfect complement of the image! Great write!
Once again you have captured the heaviness of life.
The bourbon hearse hefty with the lard of death-genius. It has a flavor from The Stranger by Albert Camus, only better.
The clown ‘a safe bet’ – yeah right – while smirking at death. Heavy words indeed.
hefty with the lard of age,
still he smirked at death
A sad clown is capable of doing just that and it will not raise an eyebrow!
Hank
“still he smirked at death…” This line is so inspiring that it gave me light to look at this picture in another way. Brilliant, as always, Bjorn.
So expressive! Words were footsteps made in wet snow. Still he smirked at death! Chilling!
Wow….this is so marvelous….another expressive graffiti… brilliant!!!
Your response complements the street art perfectly. Loved the last line
The bourbon hearse, hefty with the lard of age, this is golden, my friend.
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woah. that smirking clown looks sad. regret can tinge even the best makeup to be the wrong color.
Your words created a strong image which I say, can very well stand on its own apart from the image that was the poem’s inspiration.
How very sad….
Evokes a bit of melancholy and some fear. Nicely penned.
The words!!! Brilliant! Genius! Masterful writing!
Awesome
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