Sirens-
why can't I hear the sirens?
Any second now they'll be here,
any second...
he's not moving.
God, please let them come in time.

We stand
huddled, helpless.
Every time I ever teased him
about that thick skull,
every word that passed between us
echoes, races in my head.

It’s surreal;
a moment ago he was laughing.
I stare at a world without him,
a world I've never known,
as onlookers collect on the asphalt,
a pool of impotent pity.

They speak to my mother
who does not hear them.
She listens for the sirens too.
My sister is melting, cradled
in the arms of a woman
she's never met.

She turns to me and I open,
clutching her to me to ease her sobbing
as we pray for time,
as we pray they know
he is more than a trauma, a broken vessel.
I pray she cannot feel me shake.

A sea of helpful strangers;
he is swallowed in a tide
of blue uniforms and red trucks.
A lens fallen from his glasses
reflects the red and blue strobe
from its shattered surfaces.

We watch, helpless,
as life fractures beneath our feet,
as the cracks deepen and spread.
We watch; it's strange how all the world
now rides upon a siren
fading in the distance.

Hi Rayn~

This is a very sad, vivid account of our most dreaded moment. You have brought to 'life' a situation we all hope we can avoid in our existence. Your word choice and imagery is excellent.

A lens fallen from his glasses
reflects the red and blue strobe
from its shattered surfaces.

My sister is melting, cradled
in the arms of a woman
she's never met.

excellent lines!

It may be your style to be wordy, if so, I respect it. Perhaps in this situation (horrible as it is) one has to be wordy, we need to put the awful picture across with as much information at possible.

Well done on this poem. I hope it is not true.

PP

Rayn -- this is filled with wonderful imagery -- I felt I was there with you it was described so vividly.

I think perhaps it could be trimmed back to be more concise in parts. I'll print it off, have a look and will be back asap!

Snow

Thank you for the comments; I hadn't realized it was wordy. I was so focused on establishing atmosphere, putting the ready in the moment, that I guess I lost track of other things! I'd appreciate any suggestions for slimming it down.

Hi Rayn,

I first wanted to say this has a lot of potential, as the subject is both dramatic and unique. I also think you've captured pivotal moments during a crisis, especially, as a 911 operator, I can tell you each 20 seconds feels like long, slow moving minutes - it is like time stands still, our senses seem to slow as well, they are all normal reactions to an abnormal situation happening. As mentioned, there are some very fine images that I would like to see enhanced and more focus shown to the ideas that they touch on. As Snow mentions, some weeding might also help improve this to a greater potential. I too have printed this out to return with a more significant commentary, for now I will touch on some minor thoughts...



Let's see what we've got and please use what you might think useful and discard the resst.

Best Regards, Liz ...





Well Rayn, I will be back to offer a more defined critique, I hope something I've left makes sense and it helps in some way. I think your premise for the poem is excellent, and some of the references, need to be drawn along- for instincts, there is that sense of confusion and detachment during such a moment of trauma, our sense of time is effected, while all details become somewhat distorted as everything is 1000 times more defined which I felt your poem was trying hard to recreate (a great idea) but doesn't acheive because of the lack of planning in the stanzas... I would suggest reworking it in a time sequence of thoughts/actions...

Hope this helps, will return soon ... Best Wishes, Liz

Liz, I am so sorry to hear about your goddaughter. The day after Thanksgiving, 2005, my family went for a walk and my brother tripped. He couldn't catch himself in time to break his fall. We were lucky, though; he was in a coma for a month and he had a stroke that paralyzed him on the right side, but he lived. In a miraculous turn of events, he's actually recovered full use of that paralyzed side as well. It was a terrifying time, though, and I thought it was important to try to convey to others what it feels like to be in that moment.
To that end, I really appreciate your suggestions. I've taken this poem as far as I can on my own, but you've given me a fresh perspective and I'm already at work revising. That seems to be most all I do with my writing time. :D I'll try to post a revision this weekend, I think - your comments have me off to a great start!
And thanks for what you do. 911 operators are very, very important people, and I can't imagine what a stressful job that must be. I'm so glad there are kind, sympathetic, capable people willing to do it!

Hi Rayn -- I'm back!

Your poem certainly has great impact on the reader, but perhaps a little weeding of unnecessary words/repeats might give that extra conciseness needed.

Here are some thoughts ~




You've made a good start here Rayn and I look forward to your revision.


Snow

Hi Rayn
I remember this as being one of the first poems of yours I commented on, on the site where we first met. This has a come a distance since then, but I too agree this can be trimmed to make it even more poignant than it already is. Here are my meager suggestions to use or lose (I have just basically edited instead of doing in-line comments. If you have any questions about why I made a particualr edit, please ask)



Why can't I hear the sirens?
Any second now they'll be here.
He's not moving.
Any second....
Please.

We stand huddled, helpless.
Every time I ever teased him
about that thick skull,
every word that passed between us
echoes, races in my head.

A moment ago he was laughing.

I stare at a world without him,
as onlookers collect on the asphalt,
a growing pool of pity.
My mother does not hear them.
She listens for sirens.

In the arms of a woman
she's never met, my sister,
melting, is cradled.
She turns to me; I open,

clutching her to me.
We pray for time.
We pray they know
he is more than a trauma,
a broken vessel.

He is swallowed in a tide
of blue uniforms and red trucks.
A lens, fallen from his glasses,
reflects the red and blue strobe
from its shattered surfaces.

We watch as life
fractures beneath our feet,
as cracks deepen and spread,
while the world rides upon a siren
fading in the distance.

Hello wordsart,

After reading Cyn's artful parring, i have little of editorial interest to say. So let me say that i love the line about the glasses reflecting the colours, the N's opening to receive her sister and the spreading cracks near the end. Maybe i'm pessimest, but i liked the image of the crack to end and cut out the last two lines; to me, without the sirens departure we are left cliffhung, so to speak, feeling time still ticking in import and wanting release that doesn't come. The cracks are left as the most important thing to realise.

i especially like the removal of impotent for the crowd. While certainly some of the on-lookers may have felt helpless, it is the N's helplessness that the reader should focus on, not the bystanders. They can be in dismay, dour-faced or whatever, but the impotence is for the N and her family only...preferably in the shoes of the N, since that is where you put us.

Very much enjoyed the reader, sorry it took so long to come back,
~tim