And now, here’s this year’s final (optional) prompt. In his poem, “Angels,” Russell Edson speaks of these spiritual warrior-messenger-guardians as if they were a type of endangered animal. Brief as it is, the poem is disorienting in its use of flattened diction, odd similes, and elliptical statements. Today, try writing your own poem that discusses a real or mythical being or profession (demons, firefighters, demonic firefighters) with the same sort of musing yet dispassionate tone.
Happy writing!
Proctor
Divine of Forests and Vines
has either perished or still
stood in line
outside an Office of Environment
of some progressive Government
in hemispheres East and West
waiting to collect her dues
for keeping
the Green intact in the Blue
planet
like a gambler who’s lost
every penny
but insists there is hope—she
will recover
all that’s lost to Greed
O! That word again—
starts exactly like green
but ends on Dead, Dread,
Dumb.
The Proctor had resigned
three generations ago.
Legends say, the skies had rumbled
No,
Or was it Know?
It’s up for debate.
That’s what we do.
We talk. Talk. Talk.
***
And it's a wrap up. Thank you dear readers for visiting my page. I'm grateful for your time and comments.
This is such a sharp final poem, Arti. I love the wordplay of Green/Greed and how the poem ends with that painfully accurate “We talk. Talk. Talk.” See you next April! <3
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