Sunday, March 20, 2011

Freedom (Sunday Scribblings)

This is actually one stanza from a much larger piece I am doing for the Arthousecoop Fiction Project. I've been working on this project all day....I started in a month or so ago and then let it simmer for a while but today I finished all the writing. Now off to design the presentation of the moleskin... I'm not sure if this portion comes off as well as a singular poem, it probably is better when taken as a whole with the rest of the stanzas but I'm not typing them....there are about 40, some longer, a few a little shorter.

There was a car
It was freedom
It was life
I could escape, drive away
I could go and I didn't have to stay
The decal was off the front
The side was dented
The speakers shut off by going over a bump
They turned back on by a miracle
I took naps alone between classes
I got my own lunch
I went to the bookstore whenever
I got coffee on Sundays instead of sermons
I lived



7 comments:

Cynthia M said...

That's such a cool feeling....the first car. Beautifully captured, thankyou for the memories:)

Berowne said...

Car named freedom -- good.

linda may said...

Oh yes the freedom of having your first car. Mine was 16 years old and I was 17. The speakers didn't work and the headlight fell out after someone backed into me in a car park,the brakes failed and I had to creep to the garage with traffic whizzing all around me, hahaha, but it got me all sorts of places.

Kim Nelson said...

This piece perfectly addresses that place in time and life, guiding any of us who have been there right back. Here is my FREE piece:
http://www.kimnelsonwrites.com/2011/01/31/you-me-and-fibonacci/

Jingle Poetry said...

we do enjoy some limited freedom..

no absolute freedom though,
lovely take.

oldegg said...

To exchange legs for wheels is always a high point in everyone's life. Great poem.

Old Altonian said...

A very good piece of writing - but, I'm sorry, I can't enthuse about cars, at all, at any time, ever! Now a bike (preferably a Bianchi) is another matter.

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