On the battleground, battles were won and lost,
Brothers in arms held the line, did what they must,
Attentive perception, their reaction was fast,
Everything they did, came with a cost.
Sunset. Silent sentries stood watch, salute,
Courageously holding on the tears, mute,
The flag was lowered, rifles rested at the foot,
This was a final send-off of a great recruit.
A picture set in the frame,
Dog tags over it lay,
Gasps, nothing to say,
Tears ran at the end of his day.
Memories recalled, fond to remember,
Stopped by the nightmare of fire and amber,
Commands rustling, one in the chamber,
Indicators enveloping visor, too much to render.
A loyal friend, made of metal, a valiant hound,
Engaged the enemy and fell to the ground,
Private groaned, turned his head around,
But his companion was nowhere to be found.
Patrol in recon,
Tracked a beacon,
Spotted the iron,
But he was gone.
Back to the base, attempts to revive,
Installed the new program, changed hard-drive,
His mouth was buzzing, similar to the hive,
Attempts have failed, he wasn’t alive.
Mechanic gasped, shut it down and shook his head,
„The damage was beyond repair. It’s so sad.
There’s nothing I could do. Your dog is dead.“
Private stood up and approached the bed.
He saw the muzzle laying flaccid,
Oil for blood – smeared, stench rancid,
He touched the shoulder made of plastic,
And covered him with a piece of fabric.
The memory of his jaw on the soldier’s shin,
The memory of keeping him neat and clean,
The memory of the last time he was seen,
Left a memory of a hound-like machine.
Poems are not my strength. However, I gave it a shot and I am pretty satisfied with how it turned like. I’ll have to admit, I did a fair amount of research to get a more professional look, but I think I’ve failed at it. The secret to a great story is the syllables and pace, length of the words and construction of verses so the bloc has a rhyme. If one of those fails to bring what is needed, the quality of the poem is deteriorating.
With the new rise of rappers and self-proclaimed musicians, I get the feeling that poetry is really in a tough place. It seems that anyone can put two words together that rhyme, but don’t necessarily co-relate in a meaningful way, can call itself an artist. What’s even more horrifying is the fact that these artists make it in the world. In a way, I am disguised with that, but also afraid of the massive fan base that does follow these artists. I am almost tempted to not call them artists; yet, I cannot deny the creativity and some talent needed to edit a crap to look nice. Don’t get me wrong, the crap is still crap, but shiny. What a waste of time. And for some reason it brings money.
What I meant to say with this, the world took these effortless creators to the same standard of poets, while real poets are pushed in the background, diminished for their spirituality, soul, and creativity, many abused as ghostwriters and songwriters.
My goals are not to become a poet, and I don’t see myself as worthy of the prestige title of a poet. I do make poems, and I do enjoy a good one, however, I am not a poet. In a way, I take a field trip into this world of poetry, not because it is fantastic to me, but because I am looking for to enrich my comprehension on the art of writing itself, learn about soul, spirituality, and creativity.
On the other hand, if I want to think of myself as a writer, I must be able to write anything. This means that I should possess some knowledge of science, art, and life. This also means that I should be able to express myself in numerous forms of writing, thus the reason of attempts to fabricate a poem.
Because I am not a native English speaker and intelligent phrases considering poetry are foreign to me, I can’t provide you with the insightful and well-worded critique of this poem. If I did, I’d speak about the tempo, pace, form, syllables, and tricks of the trait. I could’ve also compared my work with other works I’ve seen from much-talented artists, but again, it would be poorly done.
What I can say about the poem, is my take on it, some personal opinions and intentions that went in making this.
The genre this poem is written it is well known to me. Military fiction and elements of cyberpunk merged with elements of futurism and drama is something I am trying to get proficient at.
As you already read, the poem starts with an explanation of what is happening at the moment, takes a turn to action and slowly steers to sadness. The end is somewhat peaceful, suiting and calm. I think it is perfect for this subject.
Speaking of subject, I wanted to reach for that animal-human bond, a friendship between human and a dog. We already know how affectionate dogs can be and how loving and kind they can get. There is no point in analyzing that.
The plot twist in this was to make a slight alteration and bring in the different point of view when that same dog is now a machine. Naturally, we have a question here: Can a human be so loving towards robots, in the same way, they are loving of animals, in this case – a dog?
This question stirs to the domain of unnatural, artificial and inhumane. Why? Well, I am sure you’ve heard that we have fembots now, primarily used as pleasure toys. So, could we form an emotional relationship with that android? And if we can, what that makes the more traditional form of a relationship? Is it obsolete? Do man and women matter, or not?
And also, more moderate question. Where do we draw the line in sexualizing the lifeless objects? Think about it. There are people that find various things attractive. Some love walls (yes, walls), some look at the plant and suffer an orgasm. The humans are weird.
If a machine looks like a dog, does it have the same value as a real dog? These poems and my stories are aimed to go deeper into our conscience and shuffle a few things in there. Maybe even provoke a reaction, disobedience and summon some things to surface level. The intention of this poem was to make your brain jump for a second.
If you read my previous stories like “A few good days”, “Her bed”, “Scopes of Love” and a few more I have on my blog and Patreon, you’ve must’ve spotted the reoccurring topic of falling in love with a machine. To me, this is a spicy topic I like to ponder on and make different paths towards the conclusion.
And speaking of conclusion, what is your answer? Do you agree with me that you can actually construct an emotional bond with a machine?
Until the next poem, story or a video, take care, my Commanders in Quill.
– Shawn –