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Open Poetry #42
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Clap for the Wolfman
| Open Poetry #42 |
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Clap for the Wolfman |
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Jaime Fradera Senior Member
since 2000-11-25
Posts 843Where no tyranny is tolerable |
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 nationally syndicated programs 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 open to receive her in my own. 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. Clap for the Wolfman. Clap for the Wolfman ... ... fade ... ... a symphony of crickets ... Everyone knows what soft and dreamy summer nights are for ... :-------)! |
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Jaime Fradera Senior Member
since 2000-11-25
Posts 843Where no tyranny is tolerable |
Any Lori out there who is forty? I dream of you! I wait impatiently ... eager to take you in my arms and love you ... even if you are already over forty! |
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Artic Wind Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 8080Realm of Supernatural |
Enjoyed ARCTIC WIND |
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MJ Member
since 2008-02-21
Posts 60 |
Enjoyed the nostalgia of this...nice read. |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Creative and interesting...smooth silky flow...the wolfman reminds me of a radio guy called "Wolfman Jack" that used to do a radio show in California...a wolfs howl was a part of his opening...James |
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Gentle Spirit Member Patricius
since 2000-10-09
Posts 13989 |
When I saw the title I immediately thought of the song and it brought back old memories. I enjoyed your poem Jaime. |
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Earth Angel Member Empyrean
since 2002-08-27
Posts 40215Realms of Light |
Thank you, Jaime for bringing back some "soft and dreamy summer nights" of my own. Awww, such sweet memories!  ~ But a brand new summer is coming with new memories to be made! Enjoyed this very much! Hugs to you, Linda ~ Unfortunately, I'm just Linda ~ not your dream girl Lori! lol |
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Alison 
since 2008-01-27
Posts 9318Lumpy oatmeal makes me crazy! |
Jaime I can't describe how I feel when I read some of your poems. It is surreal and like time is captured and slowed down. It's a wonderful feeling. Alison |
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Robert E. Jordan Member Rara Avis
since 2008-01-25
Posts 8541Philadelphia, Pennsylvania |
Jaime Fradera, This is a good story. I enjoyed reading it. Bobby |
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TomMark Member Elite
since 2007-07-27
Posts 2133LA,CA |
enjoyed too!! |
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Jaime Fradera Senior Member
since 2000-11-25
Posts 843Where no tyranny is tolerable |
Hi Ali ... Thank you for responding to my poems. I hope they aren't tupsetting ... Most of them are taken from nocturnal dreams. They come to me in my sleep. This is NOT unusual. Mostly I do not have to compose the stories. They just come to me and I just relate, spellcheck and post them. Them seem just as new or strange to the reader as they may be to be. It is I wait each night for the next "movie" without having any idea what will be presented next This is not unusual but it often makes going to sleep fascinating and taking naps fun. It may be like watching television without benefit of TV Guide so you have no idea what is going to be presented next. again I hope my dream poems don't upset. Maybe Wolfman Jack will come tome again. Maybe Ali or muskegs or mosquitos! I don't know what I will dream this week but I will write it up for you! |
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