“They grip down and begin to awaken”
Ground trembling, walls shattering,
falling, screams of death, dust, blackened sky
surrounding, enveloping, they gasp, struggle for freedom,
move, thirst, breath, search for reasons, family, the sky,
falling, screams of death, dust, blackened sky
surrounding, enveloping, they gasp, struggle for freedom,
move, thirst, breath, search for reasons, family, the sky,
the streets, a sense of direction, but the chaos continues,
more movement, upheaval, no order but alive they look at
their lives, wonder at being chosen, resort to instincts,
more movement, upheaval, no order but alive they look at
their lives, wonder at being chosen, resort to instincts,
search, clutch, grab what is left, pulled back to their instincts
they hunker down, protect, eyes scan, urgent, aware
of needs, their view widens to survival, senses start to
form new directions, new objectives, new cares,
new answer, new lives, new connections,
they hunker down, protect, eyes scan, urgent, aware
of needs, their view widens to survival, senses start to
form new directions, new objectives, new cares,
new answer, new lives, new connections,
new ethics, new protections and
new dreams
new dreams
There were four of us and each developed a different idea. That is what makes the group great; stimulating our minds and then giving us the freedom and confidence to go in whatever direction that takes us.
Bob, this is great. It feels like something different from you. I even like the way it looks visually, like an egg. Don't know if you meant hunker down instead of honker? Might I suggest leaving out things like "but the", the "but" in but alive, the "their" in pulled back to their instincts; some of the phrases are short and fast and others are slower because one word makes them so. I like this piece. Karen
ReplyDeleteFROM KAREN:
ReplyDeleteBob: I did the same assignment as above. I grabbed a sentence in the first paragraph of the poem. Here's what I came up with on first pass:
Under the surge of the blue mottled clouds
I drive
wishing for a car derived from hedonism
blatantly topless for all to see
so that the moist cold air would flap through
my hair cuticles
bathing my scalp with
the deliciousness of a warm winter’s day.
That I could drive/survive on cruise control
allowing me to occasionally peruse
the contents of my back seat;
ancient unread magazines, dented coffee carriers
branded with roadside gas station names
flipped lids finally lost forever,
a lone McDonalds French fry,
pennies from the heaven that is
the hole in my beat denim jacket,
soiled napkins and filthy rags,
Chris Isaac’s Heart Shaped World
encased in a broken plastic square
scratched for eternity,
a bottle of motor oil to tweak the squeak
under my hood.
Emissions from my radio fleeing the confines
of this air space
as they define the moments that fly by
powering my grip through this life
into the next.