Tonight there are blood orange lamplights
massive in scope, playing sunrises and sunsets
with speedy grace among enigmatic clouds
just born, tasting the air of the world
in the hours before their dooms.
I sit patiently, belting loud chords
to oft-repeated radio songs in a voice I swore
was too deep to muster, like the pimples
jaggedly scarring my face - all it took
were the right moments.
And those seconds come into view
over light-pollution thatch webs
like a flashing, neon-light sunken basket,
full of warehouses and buildings
as abandoned as the pitch-black lakeshore.
Perhaps the bats fluttering between trees
from the fire-laden forest oasis I've left laugh at me
and my red flashlight, I far blinder than they are,
as eldritch woods consume me in acts
of black and blue fists against the mind.
It's funny how the ethereal moon
can cast shadows of its own,
at least for those who notice
the reflections on the lake's surface
and puny lights of neglected boats
left to rot, adrift and abandoned,
under the pinpricks of starlight spotlights
echoing the civilization below.
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
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125,007 Literary Works • 672,815 Reviews
I refused to review this for two days because I didn't want to admit that I wasn't exactly sure what the underlying concept was to be retrieved, but I've got my conclusion, and like it or not, I'm deeming this sheer observational poetry. Put it in the vein of existential writing. I think it's up your alley, anyway.
Please tell me thoroughly if I'm mistaken because I've agonized over this quite a bit more than I'd like to admit. But, if I'm right, eh. La vie est drôle.
Your imagecraft is your absolute strength, and I admire it from the standpoint of someone who takes pride in being able to condense descriptors to cut down on colors, adjectives, positionals, articles, and all manner of anchors to deliver a pre-packaged scene to be consumed the way your images are consumed. All that in mind, your flow is suffering in places, particularly stanza four--the entirety--and could benefit from heavy bandaging and aloe for the new carvings. While on the point of discussion, the bats come and go without much purpose, not particularly serving the narrator or his view of the dam, the city, the manufactory, the smog, any of it. I get the nature contrast, but they come in so suddenly and break-neck that it is...described quite well as break-neck. Consider it.
Being honest, I did enjoy this beyond the frustration of trying to crack something that I think ultimately didn't need to be cracked. It's a reflection. Five stanzas of you offering to let me sit down with you and look out over your city and admire the industrial clouds, the fire-like glow of the street lamps and tail lights. The boats on the lake. It's all so peaceful and empty and it naturally feeds my thirst to wake up and have this grand adventure in a world void of people.
It's a nice, relaxing sit.
Minor edits include my distaste for 'dooms', 'puny', and how a person singing alone belts singular notes at once, chords in melodic sequence, though maybe you know that. I feel like you know that.
I hope I'm right. It really was enjoyable after the headache.
Ty
Helloooo,
Wow there's nothing bad I can say about this. I just really like this, It makes me want to re-read it over and over again. I like how you worded it, it all matches perfectly. You can just tell what the story of this poem is. It's realistic in a term you would say.
Keep up the Great work!!!!
-WeirdGrace