OK, this is a fridge door poem I made earlier, but since the object it describes is once again being exhibited I’m passing it off as done today
As for Living III, by Penny Ryan. Photo by Kate Scott
Rhyme # 13: Piece in an exhibition
A broken ribcage from some broken
evolutionary line?
But these aren’t bones – too glibly spoken!
That’s no knotted ridge of spine.
This work displayed in art school stairway
is not by some apprentice Yahweh,
nor did the wondrous Burgess Shale
a woven life like this unveil.
And yet it speaks of some great sorrow,
something beautiful that’s lost,
A world bereft, left with a ghost.
Perhaps a warning for tomorrow
unless we act, lives we hold dear
will be as if they never were.
Me fail? I fly! 