Poetry | Fred Aiken Writing

March 8, 2023

Repurposed Strobe Lights Used for Raves as a Stand-in for the Light of Hope; aka Hope’s Light

flutter and flit, wings a blur of gold; a whisper promises at night,

of bright futures and dreams fulfilled

careful hands reach out to grasp it, but its feathers slip through fingers like dust collecting in the corner

a world where truth and meaning are elusive, wings snipped

power down; paper crown; chords cut

searching for the fragments of meaning in the shattered pieces of gossamer dreams; but often, all that is found is disillusionment and despair sitting in the corner of the room with legs and arms crossed

yet still, wings expand, lift, cut through ozone,

hoping against hope;

even in the midst of fragments, a neon beacon glows, strobe lights repurposed for this dance

in flight

March 7, 2023

A Silence Distraction Shone

when I come home in the evening and look up at the sky with an unkempt mind,
I see a million things in splendid confusion, and with activity of infinite company

the pipe’s glad whistle towards morning spreads with alert;
shrill noises in my ears sound the alarm, feed the growing mollusk
burrowing into tangled veins splayed across an ocean of fear

mocking-
birds that nature incites to sing are saying and well-away, but make sure not to stay all day!;
and it startles me with their groveling cries

the day is very much awake when I lament that it must have a night-brother at all;
but obsidian shadows follow me as death lurking in the creeping footnotes that I never read,
as if its time shone only as a counterfeit light on a mirage to be resisted

deliver me from constant distraction!

deliver me from constant unknown!

March 6, 2023

Locked in Place; A Staring Contest Gone Awry

screens glow with an eerie light

as our fingers dance in a hypnotic flight,

we’re lost in a world of endless streams

like suburban junkies chasing a fading waking dream

the signals pulse, the eyes contract, like electric big bulbous veins,

we stare into the void, minds wrapped in chains,

a ghostly echo of the ethe(real),

trapped in a web of silicon and steel

the programmed cities are a labyrinth of wires,

as we navigate the endless spires,

our eyes locked on a distant prize,

chasing the rabbit, chasing the endless pages of a story that says nothing and comforts no one

neon signs flicker, fade,

as we stumble through the midnight parade, the gorgeous night stumbles, and neon

blades stab into directionless voids,

where the only rules are follow, pursue, follow peruse, follow, abuse

abrasive shadows dance like madmen in the dark,

race along, minds alight with a spark,

hearts a ticking time bomb, ready to explode,

as the struggle to find our way back to the road leads to endless splits and trenches

but in the Rorschach, there is still hope,

a flicker of light, a way to cope,

a path to freedom, a way to break an invisible chain’s weight,

but the answer lies behind a sip of tea, a thoughtless hat, a whisper

of a day not half-bad