Thursday, June 05, 2008

Silly Poem

So I'm struggling to write anything at the moment and that's always a good time to take up a challenge!

This blog challenges anyone to write a poem or short story based on the following statement: 'She was just frying an egg, when she expired!'

This is it in context from the blog -

"Many years ago I overheard an elderly and very genteel lady say, ‘She was just frying an egg, when she expired!’ She uttered these words in an accent which Scottish readers will know as either Kelvinside or Morningside and vous autres, just think ‘elderly genteel posh’."

Here's my effort:

Heart Failure

Imagine
her last breath
drawn above this shining hub

of marigold in a silver pan.
That she had cracked her last
was unknown to her

or the egg.
Yet the distance between
her heart and head,

in that moment,
was wider than all the eggs
in the known world.

And she had seen them all,
in this one yolk
forever flowering beneath her hand.

7 comments:

Dave King said...

Well, I was going to accept your challenge - until I read your effort: how can I follow that?

Sorlil said...

ha, you're too kind! please do, it was fun.

Rachel Fox said...

If you're frying an egg and you die...does the house burn down? What is left of you? Enough to tell you had a heart attack?

I like the 'marigold'...and 'cracked her last'...The first half or so, for me, seems to work the best.

Sorlil said...

lol, just a bit of fun

Rachel Fox said...

And it is funny in a kind of nicely sick way (with serious undertones..).

I can see you writing a whole series of bizarre death poems...theatrical, extreme...great fun to read out at the poetry night you're going to put on too! You would need a suitably OTT poet outfit to go with them (big cloak, huge bun hairdo with one of those big stick things in it...ridiculous glasses...). You should choose another name and she can be your alter ego. Lily La Lovedeath anyone?

Jim Murdoch said...

I really don't have anything to add to what's been said. It's strange how we can sit around without two ideas to rub together and then someone else gives us a push and we're off. A beautiful little poem. Now to keep the momentum going…

Sorlil said...

lol, I could call my poetry night 'Death Poets Society' - catchy eh?!
thanks jim, it's a relief even to write a wee exercise poem when nothing's happening on the creative front.