This post is about the third assignment I wrote. This one was about poetry, shout out to my Auntie Ann, who is looking to restart writing poetry. This was the first poem I had written for decades. Hope you enjoy:
Immolation – Paul Blake – in .docx format for you to download
‘Wretches disperse, or face punitive action!’
The horde ignores, there’s no visible reaction.
Pounding on the metal, looking for weakness,
Their desperate species, reduced to such bleakness.
He raises his rifle, viewing through the cross-sight.
His vision enhanced; images fuzzy and green in the night-light.
Women and children, filthy and worn, surrounding the core,
Preventing him targeting the stronger males attacking the store,
A wall of flesh; young and old: political suicide.
They’d be hell to pay; the headlines will read ‘genocide.’
The radio crackles, ‘Captain, state current situation.’
‘Stockpiles are being assaulted, but there is a complication,
Targets are surrounded by a ring of protected wretches’
There is a pause, a slight hesitation, time stretches…
A loud, guttural cheer, as one of the containers is breached,
Contents spilling out: grain and fodder being leeched.
‘Command, the wretches have gained access to one of the stockpiles.’
The Captain pauses, waiting instruction, it takes a while.
‘Captain, please contain situation with extreme force.’
He blinks, suddenly unsure whether to continue this course.
He sees in his mind how this will be played out on the newscasts,
That’s one way to make your mark; there’s no denying that infamy lasts.
‘Control, please repeat order’ He temporises, hoping to delay,
‘Captain, I repeat, contain with extreme force. Make those wretches pay!’
‘Order confirmed.’ He says, his voice full of subdue.
‘Squad, we have to stop this’ He states to his crew,
‘Orders are to end this situation with lethal countermeasure.’
They voice their excitement, faces glinting with pleasure.
‘Damn wretches’, ‘Gonna make them dance’, ‘’Bout time too; filthy scum’.
He winces at their glee; their hateful grins displaying their gums.
‘On my mark, commence firing!’ He commands with a bark.
Feeling sick inside, he starts the countdown, ‘3… 2… 1… Mark!’
The crowds start to scream, wretches collapse into heaps.
As his crew methodically carry out their sweeps.
The Captain does not join in with the slaughter uncontrolled.
He stares with tear-filled eyes as he watches the horror unfold.
The Captain’s dedication to advancement: his only goal.
His life’s path all mapped out, obliterated by ‘Control’.
The choice of court-martial or notoriety,
A martyr for maintaining the order of society.
The reception this received from my tutor was mostly positive, but she felt the Captain should have identified more with the wretches – totally missing the point of the poem. This may well be the only poem you see on here, as poetry is not really a medium I feel comfortable writing. Anyway, tell me what you think in the comments below.