The exercise:
The topic for this fine, fine Saturday's Four Line Poem is: claustrophobia.
Mine:
Look, I know it must sound rather silly;
I don't understand it myself, really.
But I'd prefer to face a starving fox
Than have a rest in that polished pine box.
3 comments:
Closing in. Can't breathe.
I want out of here! Can't leave.
Constricted now. Chest heave.
Tornado shelter. Nerves. Seethe.
I like your poem, though the last line makes me think of a coffin for some reason. (Is this a vampire with claustrophobia? That would be very funny!) I wonder how it would sound if you replaced "polished pine" with "elevator's"?
Cynthia: that's a great little poem, really captures how claustrophobia feels.
Claustrophobia
My skin itches, my face twitches,
Sweat forms tiny pearls on my brow,
Pressure builds inside my head
I need to leave here now!
Cynthia - that's great, I love the rhythm to it :)
Greg - ah, the elevator is a good twist to it. But yes, I did mean a coffin :)
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