This is the final revision of a poem I wrote from the following prompt in my creative writing course at Coastal Carolina University. Your comments/criticism are invited:
Write a poem, unrhymed, about a real object –one that exists in the physical world. As much as possible, limit yourself to concrete detail, physical description. In fact, try to include a sense (a sensory detail) at least every other line. Tryto make the object seeable, tactile, physical. As seen fit, bring in background to help characterize the object.
Insentient Sentinel
The
street light's realm is shrouded in a saffron miasma.
A swath
of opaque light carved from darkness.
A safe
harbor from unseen fiends
That slither
in the sinister shadows.
Luminosity
filtered through the carcasses
Of
generations of nocturnal fliers,
Doomed
to photocell hell, Fused
to the
frosted glass of a man-made moon.
Casting
ethereal radiance on illicit transactions.
Thrown
away women selling their soul.
The
vacant gawp of crack head zombies
Fighting
another battle in an undeclared war.
The
lamppost bejeweled by the psychedelic remnants
Of a
duct-taped flyer for a rave years past.
Partially
obscured by a dog-eared wanted poster
For a
lost puppy that no longer answers to Sparky.
Unable
to either bear warning or witness
The
jaundice-eyed Cyclops's
unblinking,
sightless, oculus could
But
afford a sanguine oasis.
A young
girl bustling home after curfew.
Sharing Taylor
Swift's heartbreak
Through
awareness canceling headphones,
Oblivious
to the footfalls of imminent danger.
Snatched
from the blackness
Before
she could reach the genial
dartle
of her neighborhood night light, only
A
furlong from the sanctuary of home.
An amber
alert bulletin, hastily affixed.
Hanging
haphazardly, akimbo, hopeless,
Whispering
in the gossamer wind.
Covering
the futile cold case of Sparky.
2 comments:
Wow. Hauntingly beautiful. Great job!
Rick, you know that I love your writing. I am constantly in awe of your articulate manner and the way your words sing to me like a beautiful symphony. I am sorry that I can no longer fully explain how your writing makes me feel, but suffice it to say that I could, INDEED, FEEL the anxiety of the walk home, the loneliness of the street, the frightened, lost puppy. The purpose of creative writing, I believe, is to cause a reaction in the reader. I believe that you have accomplished that.
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