Poetry Wednesday - a draft

Entombed

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Hello poetry people,

Well, I didn’t really have anything thing for you this week, only drafts and knitting. Oscar the Orangutang took up a lot of my creative energy and was so hoping to get him finished before we came away for a few days. That didn’t happen, and my usual well organised have a poem ready for posting (even if only in my head) didn’t happen either.

This draft poem was inspired by a moment of whimsy when lying in the bed with the duvet tucked all around me and a moment of silliness. And I said the first line out loud to my husband, who, used to my weirdness, ignored it with the stiff ignoring it deserved. But I wrote it down on my bedside notebook and so far this is what I’ve come up with. It’s definitely not finished. But …. Hey, it’s poetry Wednesday not Knitting Wednesday so it’s of Froggy and Oscar are not appropriate (but will be here soon).

Photo by Birmingham Museums Trust on Unsplash

Entombed 

I am entombed in a sarcophagus 
lying constrained in my grave
killed by late stage capitalism,
a death of constant consumerism. 
Now wrapped in society’s bandages 
of expectation, constricting and final.
The hard trappings of my outer shell
Those of beauty, wealth, and fame, 
A TikTok veneer of vapid lacquer,
nothing resembles my actual life. 
My death mask the hollow words 
of nepotistic politicians.
My story painted gently 
inside the gilded case,
ready for the gods to read 
And judge me. 

Canopic jars stand beside me, 
bear witness to my failed dreams
of an equal society, organs now
flaccid and shrivelled, sucked
dry by many broken promises. 
My death is not unusual, not 
unexpected, for one such as I,
now accepted as the fate of my kind.
I will lie here sunken and dried out
until I am found again, 
my grave goods stolen, 
my body displayed. 
Such is this death I 
cannot rest even now. 

---

So that’s all for today folks, from rainy Oxfordshire, as usual let me know what you think.

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