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here's a number for the lonely people
by Jared Fladeland
bitter tunnel of wind
stretching my cheek to cheek.
it feels like a race car hurdling into turn four of the world series.
busy creature I am
surging with a green rubber-handled pliers
the lonely insides of one of God's creatures.
do i look ugly enough for you.
contentment is a con in the disguise of a tent
followed by men who like 't'.
seven miles of the quietest road
will drive any man towards a dairy farm in the middle of a midwestern field
where law does not govern anyone.
I hear the hum of an electrical generator.
Or perhaps it is the sound of seven unlucky men perishing
like termites in the desert.
08/10/2006 Author's Note: please like me.
Posted on 08/10/2006
Copyright © 2024 Jared Fladeland
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Maria Terezia Ferencz on 08/10/06 at 08:06 AM Yes you look ugly enough, and I like you...keep scribbling. |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 08/10/06 at 02:11 PM This was interesting. I think... I think...(therefore I am) I like ya. ;-} |
| Posted by Julie Adams on 08/10/06 at 04:54 PM the layers of this piece are offered like a surreal Dali painting...the appearance of vulnerability in the middle line adds another dimension to the point of view between what is described in the 1st stanza and what is observed in the 2nd half of the poem...intruiging indeed...imagery great too: "seven miles of the quietest road/ will drive any man towards a dairy farm in the middle of a midwestern field/ where law does not govern anyone." AND " I hear the hum of an electrical generator./ Or perhaps it is the sound of seven unlucky men perishing/ like termites in the desert." ...nice new post!
peace n happy writing/reading, jewels |
| Posted by Timothy Somers on 08/11/06 at 04:16 AM I believe that poets write for three reasons. For the "world", for one particular person, and for themselves. This seems to be the latter of the three. I would punch me even harder if you threw a line or two in to cut some of the obscurity you understand better than we. |
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