Today’s prompt: "I want you to pick an animal; make that animal the title of your poem; then, write a poem. You could be very general with your animal title (“Bees” or “Lion”) or specific (“Flipper” or “Lassie”). You could even be very silly with something like “Tony, the Tiger,” I guess (that tiger on the cereal box)."
For some reason, my mind decided to warp William Blake in my own weird image... I know the poem well, I have it memorized, but this is how it insisted on coming out in response to the prompt.
I blame the snow. Yes, we've had more, another 4-6 inches. Nothing like the blizzards of the past two weeks, but... enough is enough already, you know? Let the sun come out and stop me before I get my grimy mitts on another unsuspecting poet.
The Tiger
Tiger, tiger flying kites
Claw to string in great delight
Broad-beamed head and topaz eye
Balanced stripes, not one awry.
In foreign land 'neth sapphire skies
He stands erect, logic defies
A manner of being he acquired
Now a creature much admired.
For more than attitude and smarts
Tangle the presence he imparts
Feline allure and grace elite
Recognized the incomplete.
What of the need to entertain?
In what was once a cub's domain—
Delighted sounds, a growling rasp
Escape between fangs tightly clasped
When gusting winds did blow and shear
Kite from string to disappear
The black-striped cat snarled no plea
Acknowledging they both were free
Tiger, tiger flying kites
Clawing string with great delight
Playful gaze and distant eye
Tethered to a silk ally.
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