A Surprising Image

A number of people have commented on how the chance arrangements of  magnetic words on a fridge door have prompted fresh ideas or modes of expression that they could use in their poetry. Indeed, maybe as good a way as any to come up with a new poem.
Images too can have unexpected origins. I was surprised when burnt larks arrived into the poem below. It came from an old cook-book, Mrs Beeton's; somehow it had stayed in my head  from childhood. (My mother had the book). I searched online, but couldn't find it: a roasting tin or dish with an array of roasted larks on it.
I found these instead,  there just might be a poem our two lurking somewhere in  these delectable-looking pies. If you find one please send it here for posting.

 

Mrs Marshall’s The Cookery Book (London: 1885)

 

 

Tired.

  

Tired,

tired words

burst like plastic footballs.

 

Waiting on this sand-paper plain,

I am no more than a skull

propped up.

 

With biro for harpoon,

I remain still

in the little pool of my shadow,

 

turning questions over

on the spit of my mind;

I have burnt larks on my plate.