PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I suddenly am struck by a: I suddenly am struck by a similitude.. YES MY FRIEND!!!

That's okay, not a problem. : That's okay, not a problem.  If you posted your comments on the Moon, more people would want to go there just to read them.

It was wise to allow this: It was wise to allow this poetic thriller to emerge in its own time rather than settle for anything less than excellence, and after savoring the captivating poem, decades in the making and no less marvelous than Rod Serling's narration (and I agree that his monologues had a "tragic beauty" that is impossible to replicate), I'm glad I had the privilege of witnessing the event.   Apparently you had a more productive use for your cassette recorder; mine churned out bootleg music on tapes that eventually got tangled up in the machine. (Oh the horror!)   Your enthusiasm for this achievement is certainly warranted. You've earned some bragging rights! Congratulations on this.  

Thank you for that splendid: Thank you for that splendid comment, and for understanding what I was attempting to do. In some ways, I have been waiting since the summer of 1972 to write this poem.  Although my first instruction in Poetry was still eight months ahead in the future, I knew---as much as an awkward fourteen year old, still uncomfortable with my adolescent nature could know---that Rod Serling's words, in that episode of Night Gallery, constituted a real, bona fide poem, and was spoken as such by the highly talented actor, John Colicos.  I recorded that episode on one of those small cassette audio recorders (remember them?) and I listened to them over and over again, haunted by the tragic beauty of Serling's words.  Even though he did not know the ship broke apart at the last few minutes, that lack of knowledge has no affect on that marvelous monologue.  My parents questioned, as they questioned so much of my natural preferences, why I should want to listen to that speech again and again; and I could not explain to them that it was a poem, not merely a small segment of a televised entertainment.  After that, during any encounter I had---as a reader or viewer---with the legend of the Titanic, even Cameron's magnificent version, the words of Rod Serling, as delivered by John Colicos, always echoed in my mind.  Earlier this month, I have watched several depictions of the disasterm on television as well as on YouTube, and I think that, at this late stage of my life, this poem was finally ready to---as some say about other situations---"come out." Thanks again for reading the poem.  I hope my enthusiasm for the poem does not seem to childish or self-centered.  That ajward adolescent is still a part of me, with still clumsy effects as well.

All the delicate beauty and: All the delicate beauty and focused ambiance one expects from haiku, but this one powerfully engages the senses in a picturesque setting at the end of day. I could see, hear and feel so much from a sprinkle of details and one highly symbolic star. A pastoral delight.

I'm so glad I didn't let this: I'm so glad I didn't let this stunning accomplishment slip by. Your prowess for eloquent narration, sculpting pulse-pounding spectacle and reeling readers headlong into drama from which they can't look away, makes its triumphant appearance in the first few lines.   With a title that offers full disclosure without being predictable, you could use your descriptive powers immediately and with dynamic effect: "The groans or shrieks of/  riveted steel---twisted by brute power that/ none can measure, and none anticipated" gives way to a dread you depicted with bewitching excellence, using the scenery and the brutal cold that almost made me shiver as your palette. The "lurking darkness" became your most formidable tool in your box of brilliance:   " . . . most unknown and most fearsome to you---the gravity of it, pulling you closer, cannot be escaped; your collision against it cannot be postponed; and your consciousness of it will never cease or dissipate in the least . . ."   You continue in a voice, silky, enchanting and chilling, shrewdly avoiding stanza breaks and deploying the second-person POV to keep the reader encased in the terror. To the end, although we know how it ends, we cannot look away, and somehow, cleverly, you managed to surprise me.   In death, the victim (us!) finds life "more tangible in its dwindling" and what weighs heavily upon the dying mind are lost opportunities to do good. Worldly success fades into irrelevance. How ravishingly you put us into this final, extreme perspective, and how ingeniously you ended on an image, seen through our eyes, that is not only poetic, but cinematic and illustrative.   Believe me, the impact of your verbal skills on this enthusiastic reader, rivals the best.