For the documentary poem, you take an event and document it into a poem. I didn't think I could do justice for anything that was reality so here's my take.
Tick Tock
There it is again.
That incessant ticking.
All night she hears the clock
but there’s nothing here.
Maybe a door.
She just lies there
on the padded floor.
All the meds in the world
can’t help her.
She’s too far gone
lost in a haze.
Only one soul knows
what happened to her.
Only one and he’s gone too.
The doctors all stand
overlooking the camera feed.
Judgmental.
Deciding to heal her misery.
The press would be happy
to hear the verdict. The men nod.
The padded door opens.
One sharp needle
and it’s over.
The case was closed last week.
Found guilty. Murder.
The broken clock was enough.
The hour in hand.
The minute, heart,
The second, eye.
The man’s blood pooled
On the carpet, blending in.
And there she was.
Hair frazzled, eyes wide.
Sitting, fingers tapping.
Counting. Ticking.
Here is the REWRITE:
Tick Tock
There it is again.
That incessant ticking.
All night she hears the clock
but there’s nothing here.
Maybe a door.
She just lies there
on the padded surface.
Mind lost in a euphoric haze.
The doctors all stand
overlooking the camera feed.
Judgmental.
The press would be pleased
with the verdict. The men nod.
The padded door opens.
No fight, no fuss.
One sharp needle
it’s over.
The case was finalized.
Found guilty. Murder.
The broken clock was enough.
The hour in hand.
The minute, heart.
The second, eye.
The man’s blood pooled
On the carpet, blending in.
And there she was.
Hair frazzled, eyes wide.
Sitting, fingers tapping.
Counting. Ticking.
ALSO! I attempted an actual documentary:
Twelve Years
7:59 am
People sit aboard
just a normal flight.
Four planes from different
places with one destination:
Destruction.
8:46 am
Just a New York morning
Sipping coffee on the work commute
Flight 11 makes contact
the North Tower up in flames.
9:03 am
New York is in panic.
Flight 175 makes contact
the South Tower a fiery inferno.
America was under attack.
9:31 am
The president makes his address.
People listen in fright.
“Terrorism against our nation
will not stand.”
Flight 77 hits the Pentagon.
9:59 am
Burning for 56 minutes the
South Tower tumbles.
Gusts of ash and smoke
Flood the streets of NYC.
And Flight 93 misses its target
just a field shy of the capitol.
10:28am
The North Tower drops.
People are trapped.
Firefighters lost.
Hope a flimsy card house.
“Our very freedom came under attack.
Thousands of lives suddenly ended
by evil, despicable acts of terror.”
Twelve years later and
America stands strong.
YOU ARE READING
Overbooked
PoetryOverbooked is a collection of poems, flash fiction, and anything else I deem fit to share. Some poems elude to others of my works, some I haven't shared. Enjoy.
