Prudhoe Bay

Adam, I think thats checkmate. Your stopwatch is lagging, stop throwing around your weight. look at all that you've done, staring at the sun.

Prudhoe Bay: 

O night sky - extirpated by my apricot flambeau.

Your whistling owl-call smothered by its soot, 

curling your vapour into a swollen spiral. 

A put-forth maim for the duskiness. 

Echoed out from the red moon 

to the shores of  Prudhoe Bay. 

Crisp is your air - the hairline of the stars

hang down like beautiful vines,

but your cocoon of mystique is dismaying. 

Its a hurdle for me, O night sky.

I slept on it during the daytime, 

your inevitable death -- for in three hours 

  -- the blossom of sunshine. 

Author's Note

this will put a hole in your skull.

Reviews

[Dayran]

A poem like velvet about the night sky that is mysterious. To die in such a condition, one would beg to be reborn.

[SHEEMA HUQ]

death, beauty, inevitiabilty all combined in this unique poem, quite vivid and beautiful, nice write!

[Paul Grimsley]

that first line made me smile. i really enjoyed this. it's interesting - steven says rimbaud and i was thinking baudelaire. it definite has some of that floral perfume heavy scent about it (and i mean that in a good way) - kind of like an oil painting breathing. very cool.

[Kelsey]

The last two stanzas really stood out to me. I feel like they really summed up the whole piece and brought together the beauty of it, like the last two pieces of a puzzle. You did a great job with this, it was a very lovely read. x

[Steven]

Your writing reminds me of Rimbaud's. It's whimsical, though fatalist. It's the bright smile in dying. There are brutal layers, which you have buried under heavy earth, and with a sweating brow demand the reader to dig out. It's cruel, my friend! But puzzles have their charm. And beauty is often found in the sparks between syllables. This is fantastic, I mean.

Full descriptions like, "Your whistling owl-call smothered by its soot..." and "the hairline of the stars/ hang down like beautiful vines..." truly strike the soul. It's somewhere between a shot of good rum, burning, and a slap in the face from a beautiful woman, burning. And yes, I can see the bright angry sun rolling on its face, excited to end your poem. Keep sending me rr's, these are f*****g great.

[Zachary_James]

Oh my, i thought this was unique i loved it very much. You did a fantastic job Cole.