DAY 21 - FLAWED

NaPoWriMo Day 21
For Read Write Poem

Today’s prompt is from Read Write Poem member Kristen McHenry:

“In ancient times, Persian rug makers were deeply religious and believed that only God could make something perfect. They would deliberately drop in a small faulty stitch, a flaw, into each Persian rug. In doing so, a ‘Persian Flaw’ revealed the rug maker’s devotion to God.” — Karel Weijand
Like many of us, I often struggle with the gremlin of perfectionism. The above quote reminds me that achieving perfection is not my prime directive in life, and that in fact, striving for perfection can be a form of hubris.
Write a poem about flaws and perfection in yourself or in nature or write about how you feel about being imperfect or perfect.
Here are some things you may want to reflect on as you write: Do flaws add beauty to the world? What does it feel like to experience perfection? What is it like to encounter flaws — in our selves, in others, in systems or in objects? As imperfect beings, are we able to adequately judge perfection?
If you’d like, you can try contrasting these both concepts in one poem or just choose the one that you feel most drawn to. There is potential for both perfection and flaws in everything on earth, so there’s no limit to to subject you use to frame your poems.


FAR EASTERN PROMISE

The counterfeit Rolex, a gift from Jakarta
His Armani suits were made in Bangkok
That timepiece cost two hundred thousand Rupiah
Those threads were a snip, at four thousand Baht

In the race for attention, he’s a non-starter
Style; kept in a box he cannot unlock
Along with his Artificial Intelligence
Bought from an ad in Exchange and Mart

He hangs on the hope of a Far Eastern promise
A mail-order bride from the Orient
He’s saving his wages to cover the postage
A few months now - he thinks - she’ll be his wife

He’s throwing his money away, to be honest
Riches; her real husband’s evil intent
He’s holding the poor girl to ransom; a hostage
Guaranteed wage for the rest of his life

He was born in a world of abject poverty
Now he can laugh all the way to the bank
The wallets of six other men hold her image
Not so ‘magnificent’ seven, for sure

“Taking the cash from these fools doesn’t bother me”
He says “One born every day, to be frank”
He grows richer, fatter, while they pay their homage
Hook line and sinker; entranced by the lure