Pillars

I took this poem out behind the shed and shot it. Then it followed me back in.

i guess it's about six or seven
when i pull into the parking lot,
and the sky itself seems reluctant to submit
to a radioactive sunset that's casting the whole evening
in a smoky yellow whisper.

the spaces are sporadically occupied
by some SUVs and a few other nondescript automobiles
of the variety that blurs together in the back of your mind
(like infinite reiterations of the same grayish nothing,
melting into themselves and one another until they spill over
into an amorphous mass of metal and rubber
that no poet or prophet has yet cared enough to describe)

and there's an old man here.
hard to say how long that's been true.
he's aged somewhere between the twilight of human existence
and the quiet chaos of self-perpetuating half-truths
about the nature of reincarnation.

he's pushing a series of rusted shopping carts,
each with a broken wheel in the same corresponding location,
allowing for the visibly awkward angle of his exertions.
he's got this ragged, barely-held-together,
might-once-have-been-blue los angeles dodgers cap on,
which he nonchalantly pulls down low to obscure a withered face;
thinking, perhaps, his threadbare tangle of brim and nylon
a finer relic of bygone days than its owner.

he navigates thoughtlessly through the ebb and flow
of traffic on the murky blacktop ocean, appearing
no more concerned about the proximity of islands for his carts
than the cosmic chokehold of preconceived judgments on the lot--

this pollution,
which has billowed out of cracked-open car windows
(and filtered through a cacophony of fanfares from warring stereos)
has spewed forth for what could well be decades by now.
it is the sinuous after-effect of a clandestine prejudice
that comes standard issue to every ill-tempered,
ill-informed god complex
that has ever matched my own.

Reviews

[SpokenWord]

I really like your descriptive talents as taking a simple scene you have made it enjoyable and interesting. Sitting and simply watching is a great way to truly see human life, usually we are so caught up in it that we miss things that could teach us or be an important life lesson.

[roarke]

yeah, I notice the buckshot holes, shoulda used slugs.....

It's strange what catches your eye, then leads your mind somewhere and reveals something to you that you didn't think before..... it's one of those evolutionary things.
keen mental observations.

[Ed Hart]

like everyone else lined up here, i'm impressed by how you make the words line up and sing to your orchestration...such a fast, crisp intelligence...i would put out a warning to anyone just strolling on a track you were getting to run on...

[zig]

great descriptions here, not just engrossing but entangling, i get a kick out of little poem/stories like this, aimless in sorts, but true of the moment, or the conclusion of moment equally aimless, into the "chokehold of judgements" that can only be aimed at ourselves. as if anything i just said makes sense, oh well i guess. enjoyed this very much.

zig

[Kerry O'Connor]

Wow, Mr Blake. This is straight up the best piece I've read of yours yet. Your style lends itself to a longer piece and this length is just perfect: you have packed so many unbelievably good phrases and images into the lines that one needs to absorb before going on to the next...

a radioactive sunset that's casting the whole evening
in a smoky yellow whisper.

the quiet chaos of self-perpetuating half-truths

the cosmic chokehold of preconceived judgments....

All too good.

[Robin]

again your metaphoric prowess takes the mundane to the depths of human nature . your poetic portrature of the old man - stellar

[Yo Diggity]

Good descriptions.You've painted a vivid picture of a parking lot and it's Cart Shepherd. The whole scene played out rather deary. P.S. It's not a god complex. You're just a poet man.

Go Sabres!