Friday, March 14, 2014

Insentient Sentinel - a poem by me

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.


Lisa I. said...

Wow. Hauntingly beautiful. Great job!

orionsbow said...

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.