I've a sui-generis tendency to ape
that sainted cat from Assisi who lends me
this moniker with mouth-confounding interests.
I cop ascetically tasteless means for living
and an auto-inflicting knack, but we part
weepy ways at the nobler wherefore of his arts.
He self-stigmatized for Faith, I stab at lesser
Love's tortured metaphors, and my plump palms bare
only the throb of a heart foolish for one once gripped.
Move on I must, wholly hand-in-hand with hag Hope
to cajole a jab by bumptious Charity,
touch of her tip flushing blues from my fleshy side.
It's day 8 of NaPoWriMo and love is on the agenda again. The ReadWritePoem prompt is unusual love connections. I started with a tortured metaphor, and then it got away from me.
3 comments:
So what you are saying is that apart from the name you have nothing in common with St Francis of Assisi. Well,that is disappointing!
Well, I do also have a bad haircut :).
Francis,
This is great! I love the opening stanza!
Pamela
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