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 2400-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.
This is a throwback poem from a previously published book. I’ll be posting throwbacks every Wednesday.
I wrote this poem for Napowrimo in 2013. The prompt was film noir as a poem. It’s one of my favorites to perform, though I wrote it well before I’d ever read my poetry out loud.
Abundant Sparks & Personal Archeology
Abundant Sparks & Personal Archeology combines D.L. Lang's second and third ebooks into one paperback. This poetry collection offers poems spanning the silly to the spiritual. The poems were largely transcribed from notebooks by her husband and soul mate, Timothy Lang. There is a mix of poetry written in 2013 as well as older poems from the author's archives.