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Hot august Night
| Open Poetry #47 |
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Hot august Night |
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Daddy Goose38 Member
since 2010-09-04
Posts 430obama's a rice paper tiger |
a hot August Night The dreamy softness of a summer night: a clear sky, a full Moon, a brilliant canopy of stars ... the eerie glow of fireflies dancing ... Clap for the Wolfman. He's gonna reach a record high! ... I'm riding in the back seat of a car, a convertible, top down, the wind blowing in my hair, listening to the speaker just behind me. The program or the show, perhaps a sequence of oldies, like those on a syndicated program one may hear on a Saturday night, is most interesting, as if it had been put together just for me, as though its producer knew exactly what I wanted to remember, as if to bring me a treasure of experience from the past; though I know all the while this couldn't be the case, that this is just a Westwood One radio illusion, that it is all canned, that it's really just a marketing tool, a commercial gimmick to get you to listen to the show. With every moment I am more and more captivated and enthralled. Suddenly the music stops. The driver indicates that I should talk into the speaker. I am puzzled and say: Talk ... What? ... I suppose that he (the driver) has done this through his car phone. That he's just telephoned the show. A woman's voice emerges from the speaker, The DJ, I suppose. She says I'm now connected to the all night dance party and coast to coast red hot hotline and what do I wanna hear? I ignore it, then with a start, I realize she's speaking directly to me. But this couldn't be ... ... It has to be some gimmick ... Like they want to get your reaction when the nurse on General Hospital shows up at your door and says could you please do her a flavor? ... But that compelling, female voice ... Her name, she says is Lori, and in the same breath,tells me she is forty. She says can I tell her of myself. She says We can talk, and then I realize what this is. They're just collecting demographic data on their listeners. It's a marketing tool, something like Arbitron. They want to jack up their ratings. Lori says that she is glad I'm listening, and she is glad to know we are in arms. Then she emerges from the speaker and falls into the seat beside me. In her arms she holds a magic boom box. This is what I thought to be a radio station. I can't describe it. She lets me hold it. It is smooth, large and heavy, It's top is festooned with panels, dials and buttons. It's one of those pieces of equipment that randomly mixes songs for you, moments for you, plays the snapshots of your life for you, The times of sadness, the times of rapture and of glory. How could this box, this girl, already know so very much about me? I feel a fascination with this box so indescribable, so compelling, so intense I can not say it, only feel it. But, of course, the box is her's and she is going. Then she just gives me her magic box, and I am more startled by this than by anything I've ever held in my two grimy, little hands. Why is she even letting me tamper with her very, very valuable equipment? I try to draw Experience from the box, but can not make it do what she can make it do. The system must be locked with a password, her password ... and why would she give her secret password out to just whoever? Then, before I can even formulate the thought, she opens one of the many secret panels on the box. And then she gives me the supper secret password. She reveals a teeny tiny keyboard, its tinny buttons and a menu: asdfghjkl;' ... and then Lori is gone. But why would she just give me her valuable ... her secret ... A man takes my hand and indicates to me. A woman is approaching, her arms already open to receive me. Touching her, I sense her intention. I ask her who she is but can not hear her. She is advancing. I ask her who she is. Again she tells me. Again, I can not hear her; she advances. She will not wait. The distance closes and our bodies come together. She takes me in her arms, and, since there seems so little else to do, I take her in my arms as well. in my own. The dreamy softness of a summer night: a clear sky, a full Moon, a brilliant canopy of stars ... |
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Lori Grosser Rhoden Member Patricius
since 2009-10-10
Posts 10202Fair to middlin' of nowhere |
ah Jamie...the stuff dreams are made of... hugs Lori |
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Daddy Goose38 Member
since 2010-09-04
Posts 430obama's a rice paper tiger |
Yes, Lori. It was a vivid and beautiful dream from several years ago and I posted it on Pip, I’m not sure how long ago it was so I reworked it with a different title. Each of us has a “secret” that we paradoxically long to share with someone who personally cares and who can be absolutely tristed with this special access or privilege. Thank you so much for letting me share mine … And no that when I have a dream that is just as vivid and beautiful. I will write it down and post it here so that you can glimpse what goes on in the deepest recesses of my heart of hearts. So much FUN writing this! Sends tender and addicting Hugs (h) Jaime |
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