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a quiet.
by Jared Fladelandweighted,
shoved down by the gravity of the situation,
yet pulling up, up, and singing the blues,
because that's the step when we know we're alive,
and not just a mere inanimate object.
the pull of this and that,
a dance of sweet caress
and it smells like a rose
made of copper, tin, and bits and pieces of heart and soul.
you cannot distribute
like a paper press the ink
so many dreams that are left in the shadows
of a stack of quarters,
all beside myself with circular strength,
we are the children of nature,
birthed like a barber string quartet.
bake from the vibrations
and know that this is my heart
in reverse. 10/30/2009 Posted on 10/30/2009
Copyright © 2024 Jared Fladeland
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 11/21/09 at 08:00 PM Rich, original imagery, the moment of action out of non~action, that sense of life is powerful here. The "stack of quarters all beside myself with their circular strength" a strong metaphor, with some mystery, yet so imaginable. Love the song that runs through it as an undertone from "the blues" to the "barber string quartet". |
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