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    Parker Owens
  • Parker Owens
  • Author
  • 02/24/2016
  • 424 Words
  • 1,504 Views
  • 12 Comments
Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Occasional Poetry - 16. Journey

em>Journey

Upon the table mutely sits the phone,

attached by antique cable, copper thread,

connecting lives uncounted to the world.

The uncomplaining instrument awaits

an electronic pulse, a message sent

through ether or by labyrinthine wire.

Obedient to physics, holding on

for fickle man until the instant comes:

a call, design and purpose to fulfill.

Yet silence reigns, the darkened house is calm.

 

But now it blares aloud into the night.

Quiescent dreamless sleep is torn apart,

and every molecule of darkened morn

is dashed in pieces by insistent sound.

"Awake!" in cries to empty rooms in vain.

"Awake! Arise! Take Action!" it demands.

And still relentlessly it splits the air

until a weary grumble groans aloud

and shuffles out in sleepy disarray,

the man all grey, unshaven, clad for bed.

 

His mumbled greeting echoes in the hall,

resentful for an interrupted rest.

From distant voice returns a clipped reply,

electrifying more than tangled wire

could ever do. A doctor's accent tolls

the injuries. A shaky breath: "I'll come."

He stares a moment longer into space,

and then to action galvanized he flies.

No time for careful dress, what matters now:

remember wallet, keys, ID and coat.

 

Outside he peers into the misty dark,

his rusty iron steed at curbside stands,

and though so cold, complaining, roars to life.

Maneuvered now from street to interstate

and pointed toward a distant sterile ward,

a hundred empty miles will dissipate

before remembered boyhood scenes unfold.

Toy trains, a silver laugh, enchanted play

dissolved to shy, uncertain wary twelve;

the boy leaves home as moody furtive teen.

 

But then a golden child no more, nor youth

nor man, but clothed in gown and mortarboard.

Assured and self-possessed, his code unlocked,

he brings another boy home, hand in hand.

Polite the ice descends, no words can bridge

astonishment and questions none will ask.

Love's protests count for naught against the hurt.

Rebuffed, each floats upon rejection's tide

until, when nearly continents divide,

they scarce recall the bond that held them fast.

 

The midnight call loosed memory's shadowed flood.

Broad afternoon, the daylight widely shines

when father makes arrival for his boy.

A mass of bandaged, battered man lies still

upon a wire and tube entangled bed.

One quick, one neither live nor dead, two hands

are joined as now the parent sadly weeps.

Forgive me, for I knew not what I did;

my son, my son, I have forsaken thee;

I would to heaven it were not you, but me.

em>Written in response to Poetry Prompt Metre, and with the help, commentary and encouragement of AC Benus. I am deeply in his debt.
Copyright © 2017 Parker Owens; All Rights Reserved.
  • Like 5
Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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Chapter Comments

Parker Owens
On 02/25/2016 03:02 AM, Headstall said:

Wow. Aptly named. I was mesmerized, Parker. There was lots of power here, as you told a heartbreaking story. The phone's importance filled me with trepidation for what was to come. In the end, what does a child's orientation matter. Wonderfully told history with a vividly painted message... cheers... Gary...

I am glad it wasn't unclear what I was writing about. My first drafts were pretty vague. Thank you very much for your thoughts.

  • Like 1
AC Benus

Blank Verse is a storytelling form, and here you have proved its flexibility and strength. I'm glad you took the challenge of writing a longer, more involved example, for this one touches the heart.

 

As a poem, I like that the electronic aspect of one form of communication is highlighted several times. It's almost a metaphor for it being the only line still open to father and son since they've 'stopped talking' in person.

 

Such indirect lines of contact are passive, and as you hint here, always waiting (maybe for he worst).

 

Thanks, Parker. I love this poem.

  • Like 1
Parker Owens
On 02/25/2016 12:28 PM, Defiance19 said:

This is a heart wrenching poem, Parker. You told it all very well, but I might have been holding my breath for a while. Very clear images too.. Good job.

Thank you. For some reason, I felt the father's part very strongly here. How hard it would be to realize how stupid one's differences were at that moment over the phone. As AC can attest, this was not an easy task.

  • Like 1
Parker Owens
On 02/25/2016 12:41 PM, AC Benus said:

Blank Verse is a storytelling form, and here you have proved its flexibility and strength. I'm glad you took the challenge of writing a longer, more involved example, for this one touches the heart.

 

As a poem, I like that the electronic aspect of one form of communication is highlighted several times. It's almost a metaphor for it being the only line still open to father and son since they've 'stopped talking' in person.

 

Such indirect lines of contact are passive, and as you hint here, always waiting (maybe for he worst).

 

Thanks, Parker. I love this poem.

I really wrestled with using the passive inert phone as the focus of the first part of the poem. You picked up (sorry no pun meant) on its use and metaphor exactly. I had Shubert's 'Erlkonig' playing furiously in the back of my mind as the father drove to his son's bedside. You were completely right; this was a daunting, but worthwhile challenge. Thank you for suggesting it.

  • Like 1
Emi GS

I have read this poem very slowly approxly four or five times before reviewing. It has risen the question to my mind, when I first read it, what it will be when it was my time. I know about my folks, and that worries me a lot.

 

A heart touching poem, clearly elaborated and displayed here. It is such a hard poem to read but a great poem when it comes to its presentation. Even the phone thingy, as Ben said.

 

Its a fantastic poem Parker... :)

 

~Emi.

  • Like 2
Parker Owens
On 02/25/2016 11:37 PM, Emi GS said:

I have read this poem very slowly approxly four or five times before reviewing. It has risen the question to my mind, when I first read it, what it will be when it was my time. I know about my folks, and that worries me a lot.

 

A heart touching poem, clearly elaborated and displayed here. It is such a hard poem to read but a great poem when it comes to its presentation. Even the phone thingy, as Ben said.

 

Its a fantastic poem Parker... :)

 

~Emi.

Thank you, Emi. As I said, this was a challenge to write, but really worthwhile. And it really is very hard - I shiver to think how many almost-burned bridges I may need to re-cross. I am glad this touched your heart.

  • Like 1
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