Today’s prompt was a noir theme, so I twisted the elements of futurism, cityscapes, and absurdity.
The Snarkadelic Word Smith Awaits the Penguin Whisperer
Standing in the dark haze of the alley way.
Every breath sends a chilly fog into the night.
The stars long since blotted out of the sky by
Manufactured neon bulbs flickering in their
Inconsistent rhythms like an erratic heartbeat
Spooked by unknown sounds and thoughts
Unchained in incessant regurgitation
Lying awake at midnight between consciousness and dreaming.
The mind rambles on like the city streets
Never failing in their constant symphony of horns
The cries of those wandering souls long since
Forgotten by the society that claims to care
The politicians, photo ops, guilt-driven good deeds,
The jaded jerks with their assumptions of panhandling no-goodniks,
Passing by in their 400-dollar suits and brightly shined shoes.
Never giving second thought to the down and out.
Sleep is a luxury in these days of twenty-four hour shifts.
Electric suns destroying rhythms here since before time.
Machines built without off buttons are clicking round the clock.
Coffee cups overflowing endless refills of a caffeinated generation.
Walking past art and beauty in a haste, a waste, laser focused
On problems man-made and trivial while eyes grow beet red dead tired
In a race to see what machinery will wear down its rusted elements
In a final cry of acquiescence, its bones and bolts no longer fit to serve.
Taxis screaming down the street in hurried impatience
As I glance towards the calm dance of a paper bag flying in the wind.
The ever present ticking of the silver encrusted pocket watch
Hanging from the stranger’s trench coat, shakes me from my dream.
Here he has delivered in simple whisper the keys that unlock that next lexicon
Destined to pass from my weary fingers onto simple paper.
As if on immovable cue by some divine puppetry my reluctant muse, the penguin,
disappears into the night leaving this word smith waiting once again.
© 2013 D.L. Lang