| General Fiction posted May 18, 2024 |
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Written in the spirit of the 60's
Liberating Ghosts
by lonna blodgett
LIBERATING GHOSTS
Driving down yesterday’s Boulevard,
the sagging grey house paraded bleakly
stretched out like a storm cloud hunkered down in a dirt-filled shadow.
A legacy song from a thousand performances
staged the air around my musing with bursting echoes of crystal-prism notes,
while this musical specter lifted his star studded voice
from the veiled memories of the past into my hearts pocket.
There he stood – stark, soulful and vibrant-
a riveting poltergeist in torn blue jeans-
hips flung to the side held low by his own design.
His stance altered the walkway across the street
like a steel girder posted upright.
His boundless unkempt laughter seized the spotlight,
then scattered like wind chimes leaving this world.
I pulled to the side of the road, crippled in my car,
jailed by the moment as his entranced prisoner.
Letting my illusion wander down the artist’s highway
speeding in his cherry red rock-n-roll car – guitar in the back seat,
his music lived once more in vivid hues of youth,
startling the stage with words of rebellion
becoming the cause for all the electric excitement and commotion.
He tested his inglorious crusade with the heat of disobedience.
His list of causes was his own, his assent bore his own revolution-
teasing each consequence scrolled on his flirting brow,
testing each upshot with the audacity of sunflowers in the snow,
while his heart yearned for the lyrics
to sanctify his “hell on earth” anthems
licking the wounds of his notched dissatisfaction.
Eternalizing his words of hard and lonely places
with super brooding melodies that headed down the Pacific Highway-
driving his music into the infamous future in his finned “Batman” Buick,
impervious time collided with his fitful universe.
He was daringly riding the rails of unsettled destiny.
This specter of the past, this shadowy myth still lives-
a defiant paradox of love and hate and passion.
Soon he faded into the gray abysmal definition of the street
as I drifted back wheeling down the boulevard of lost moments-
He in the seat next to me.
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LIBERATING GHOSTS
Driving down yesterday’s Boulevard,
the sagging grey house paraded bleakly
stretched out like a storm cloud hunkered down in a dirt-filled shadow.
A legacy song from a thousand performances
staged the air around my musing with bursting echoes of crystal-prism notes,
while this musical specter lifted his star studded voice
from the veiled memories of the past into my hearts pocket.
There he stood – stark, soulful and vibrant-
a riveting poltergeist in torn blue jeans-
hips flung to the side held low by his own design.
His stance altered the walkway across the street
like a steel girder posted upright.
His boundless unkempt laughter seized the spotlight,
then scattered like wind chimes leaving this world.
I pulled to the side of the road, crippled in my car,
jailed by the moment as his entranced prisoner.
Letting my illusion wander down the artist’s highway
speeding in his cherry red rock-n-roll car – guitar in the back seat,
his music lived once more in vivid hues of youth,
startling the stage with words of rebellion
becoming the cause for all the electric excitement and commotion.
He tested his inglorious crusade with the heat of disobedience.
His list of causes was his own, his assent bore his own revolution-
teasing each consequence scrolled on his flirting brow,
testing each upshot with the audacity of sunflowers in the snow,
while his heart yearned for the lyrics
to sanctify his “hell on earth” anthems
licking the wounds of his notched dissatisfaction.
Eternalizing his words of hard and lonely places
with super brooding melodies that headed down the Pacific Highway-
driving his music into the infamous future in his finned “Batman” Buick,
impervious time collided with his fitful universe.
He was daringly riding the rails of unsettled destiny.
This specter of the past, this shadowy myth still lives-
a defiant paradox of love and hate and passion.
Soon he faded into the gray abysmal definition of the street
as I drifted back wheeling down the boulevard of lost moments-
He in the seat next to me.
the sagging grey house paraded bleakly
stretched out like a storm cloud hunkered down in a dirt-filled shadow.
A legacy song from a thousand performances
staged the air around my musing with bursting echoes of crystal-prism notes,
while this musical specter lifted his star studded voice
from the veiled memories of the past into my hearts pocket.
There he stood – stark, soulful and vibrant-
a riveting poltergeist in torn blue jeans-
hips flung to the side held low by his own design.
His stance altered the walkway across the street
like a steel girder posted upright.
His boundless unkempt laughter seized the spotlight,
then scattered like wind chimes leaving this world.
I pulled to the side of the road, crippled in my car,
jailed by the moment as his entranced prisoner.
Letting my illusion wander down the artist’s highway
speeding in his cherry red rock-n-roll car – guitar in the back seat,
his music lived once more in vivid hues of youth,
startling the stage with words of rebellion
becoming the cause for all the electric excitement and commotion.
He tested his inglorious crusade with the heat of disobedience.
His list of causes was his own, his assent bore his own revolution-
teasing each consequence scrolled on his flirting brow,
testing each upshot with the audacity of sunflowers in the snow,
while his heart yearned for the lyrics
to sanctify his “hell on earth” anthems
licking the wounds of his notched dissatisfaction.
Eternalizing his words of hard and lonely places
with super brooding melodies that headed down the Pacific Highway-
driving his music into the infamous future in his finned “Batman” Buick,
impervious time collided with his fitful universe.
He was daringly riding the rails of unsettled destiny.
This specter of the past, this shadowy myth still lives-
a defiant paradox of love and hate and passion.
Soon he faded into the gray abysmal definition of the street
as I drifted back wheeling down the boulevard of lost moments-
He in the seat next to me.
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© Copyright 2024. lonna blodgett All rights reserved.
lonna blodgett has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
