The fog rolled in
like Borkum Riff from a cheap straw pipe,
unfiltered and raw in my face,
disdain showing,
maybe contempt for us all.
The moon sang a song of loneliness
where it played peek-a-boo
with the earth-bound clouds.
I sat in damp oneness,
chilled less by the night,
and more by the emptiness that swam
in the hollow of my soul.
She had taken an earlier flight,
both of body and mood,
which left me alone to save
myself.
The torments I chose to inflict,
those of doubt and wish,
lashed by futile hope,
became the virus
which poisoned my thoughts,
and cursed my tomorrows.
Left-over luggage,
dancing round the carousel
knew something more of permanence
than this prose.
The roar and whoosh of fattened flying tubes,
further engorged with daily diet of juicy
tourists and erstwhile travelers, blanketed the Muzak,
pumped like a filtering gauze
to block out the million voiced monster
of banal conversation and deathly silence .
Streaming, squirming , cologne infused masses
of the business classless fumbled with
their many things of great importance,
pushed and pushing to grab the next
crust of bread,
or seat near the bar.
Breeding stock and their offspring
dashed blindly toward their date
with some far off joy or reattachment,
panicked in the rush to place meaning to
the thankless job they procreated into.
Caged pets and un-crated owners
drifted by , undaunted by the crowds,
their eyes fixed and staring
from the daily dose of tranquilizers
and self-talked lies
about happiness and meaning.
Those that found employment in this thankless
hell of avionics had long ago
forgotten their humanity,
checked at the door each day,
and sometimes never retrieved.
And the rulers sat far away,
beyond the edge of the oblivion,
watching the money-tenders herd
their own branded flock,
and smiling softly at the song
of our life-blood dripping ever
so very slowly,
saying “clink-clink”
to the penny pots of those we serve.
Taxi's lined, hyena proud,
to break the swirling herd of disembarked,
disgorging and masticating Gucci, Pravda and Samsonite,
caring not for taste or taste,
only feeding on the river of gold
which surges in and out
from the gated portals of the gods of transportation.
From the rumbling depths
smells of dead cattle , poultry and hog
waft in unsettling wave
to excite the palate
of those conscripted to launch skyward,
completing some joyless, sexless, mindless tryst
at the expense of the brokered kings.
Dancing into this swillage,
I am suddenly attached to a visual hook,
like the sweet riff from the soul of an alto sax.
A flash of an periwinkle eye,
a chestnut curl
framing a seemingly pale oval,
perhaps a blossom in this
unlikely garden of rust
and ill intended dreams.
She flits across my vantage point,
woolen wrapped gossamer wings,
in the form of a tan overcoat.
And gone.
Steam carries with it
the fading kiss that left me here,
alone in a displaced frame,
clipped and edited,
saved for some later gag reel.
Banners of indoctrination and subservience
flagged on electronic standards
emboldened in eye catching hues,
the clear intention to distract rational thought
in a parade of fantasy.
Swept away in this flood,
I am dying at each step
that brings distance
from her heartbeat and mine,
the blood red leavings of my torn heart
still staining lips and tonger.
A vapor trail of scent
and sentiment flows ,
the rivers current strong,
only these feet can't feel the pull,
to what the future left behind.
Author notes
E A Collins
This is a growing work. Please let me know what you feel about it.
A contest entry
- ~ 1st Round ~ of 5 Rounds ~ Anything goes 1st Round - 30 or 40 entries will advance to round 2 - Time is running out~ HURRY! by Florida Sunshine.
450 points, ended October 28, 2007, 36 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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The imagery is awesome~ you carry the reader very well!!!! (
& points up the the rules ) supposed to be under 50 lines.... I'm really really sorry.... I hope you resubmit a piece that is within the limit~ I like your style... of your piece.
Thanks for entering I hope you make it to see the notes. -
Lovely personification. But, I felt you sort of overdid it. Too much to absorb perhaps. But otherwise, it is a masterpiece, with as I said, the personification consistently amazing throughout the poem. Well done!
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You captured an ordinary moment and combined it with your internal thoughts almost seemlessly. Needs a little refining and shorter stanzas would help the reader to follow more easily through your eyes. Using colours helps too if this is what you're looking for. Overall it was a great read, much enjoyed, good luck.
-
came back and tried again
My first impression is of alienation in the middle of a scene of great energy - a grey space in which you sit, from which you draw out your unhappy musings. You identify positively with nothing - until the glimpse of an angel-stranger stops your thought processes. A powerful write,I'm sure you will continue with it, maybe break it up a little, as it reads very densely. Thank you -
I think this has great potential. My only real advice would be to break it up a bit more and not let it run on so much.
The fog rolled in
like Borkim Riff from a cheap straw pipe,
unfiltered and raw in my face,
disdain showing,
maybe contempt for us all.
The moon sang a song of loneliness
where it played peek-a-boo
with the earth-bound clouds.
I sat in damp oneness,
chilled less by the night,
and more by the emptiness that swam
in the hollow of my soul.
She had taken an earlier flight,
both of body and mood,
which left me alone to save
myself.
The torments I chose to inflict,
those of doubt and wish,
lashed by futile hope,
became the virus
which poisoned my thoughts,
and cursed my tomorrows.
Left-over luggage,
dancing round the carousel
knew something more of permanence
than this prose.
The roar and whoosh of fattened flying tubes,
further engorged with daily diet of juicy
tourists and erstwhile travelers, blanketed the Muzak,
pumped like a filtering gauze
to block out the million voiced monster
of banal conversation and deathly silence .
Streaming, squirming , cologne infused masses
of the business classless fumbled with
their many things of great importance,
pushed and pushing to grab the next
crust of bread,
or seat near the bar.
Breeding stock and their offspring
dashed blindly toward their date
with some far off joy or reattachment,
panicked in the rush to place meaning to
the thankless job they procreated into.
Caged pets and uncrated owners
drifted by , undaunted by the crowds,
their eyes fixed and staring
from the daily dose of tranquilizers
and self-talked lies
about happiness and meaning.
Those that found employment in this thankless
hell of avionics had long ago
forgotten their humanity,
checked at the door each day,
and sometimes never retrieved.
To break it up such as above. You have all of that running as one thought. It would read much better if you create a new stanza for each thought. Just a suggestion. Overall it was a great write.
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What a raw...
slice of life. It can become such a dreary existence when you get caught up in the "machine" and forget how to experience any of the joy that life certainly has to offer. Too many people get caught in the undertow and are swept helplessly along to their own demise. It's just sad, so very, very sad. Great job, you illustrated this well! Ithica
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There was one very specific line in ther ei just loved caged pets and uncrated owners. I don't know why out of a sea of words and lines one can hit a person and stick like that.
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Nicely done.
Beaytiful imagry loved the sharpness of it. It just bites at you and I heard it in a snarling tone as I read it again. Cyb
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I didn't understand this poem, but I guess it's a form of society. To me society is poems of rage and anger. But you still constructed a poem from your views.
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