Oh, buddy--do you live down in the Cinci valley in the "old" town? I've gone hurtling down I-75 myself many a time. Crazy mega-car-ness obliterating the riverland. Where the hell are the possum, bunnies and racoons supposed to live? Not to mention the rest of us.

I live in Big Sky Country where the air is clean (usually) and the traffic isn't that bad... I like the analogy you create in the first stanza about strident trumpets hooked to wheezing tails... so true! Your poem got me thinking about the sunrise and sunset for some reason though... maybe because I don't see "The Herds" up here...and thought how delightful it would be if you reworked this poem slightly to be about the colors of the sunrise and sunset coming and going each day.
Are you up to that challenge?
hee, hee...
Cryssa

Gene - enjoyed your comparison of traffic to a herd traveling to

"the sanctuary of distance"

and the melancholy tone of:

in the afterdust
of the choking sprawl
shadows
hide in the neon night
cry out
to silent gods

- David

you have a great way with words poet

Begs the question; is it safe to escape the herd? Is the common belief that there is safety in numbers an illusion? I'm inclined to think so.
...they slink back into their quiet desperation.
Great imagery here, concise and packs a wollop.
Blessings J'nia

These are lines to dream by... --Charlie

excellent critique on the collective behavior of mankind, marching off into the distance his soul ...

so pervasive is the herd mentality that it exists among mankind -- the root cause, not the conveyance, the man -- an analogy with a unique twist -- thanks for sharing this one with us -- will the herd mentality persist? -- peace and love to you my dear friend -- JMW

I like everything about this poem, very well written and expressed. Another fine write from you.
Peace, love, and light,

Amber "V"

Incredible analogy, Gene. Unfortunately, it's how many of us are.

Gene,
The question, asked but still not tackled with any seriousness, is how long we can sustain living like this? But then herds don't think, they're usually led.
John

Gene the last stanza is about perfect

What an interesting analogy, Gene. I'll remember this poem the next time I am stuck in traffic! ~ Sara

Brilliant!

"belching poison in the air that fans
the flame of life"

I applaud you for this quality write which is exceptionally well expressed, Gene!

Now that I'm out of the classroom and at home, I'm no longer part of that wheezing herd. But I watch them each morning on the news while I ride the stationary bike. Images of clogged arteries swim across the screen showing a need for serious open heart surgery. Even now, sometimes I cry out to the silent God asking Him to do something about this choking sprawl without using a flood or an ancient virus.

I had fun with a smile reading “The Herd”—it speaks the truth about us poor dirt clods stuck in the muck of working life. I ask, “How many in the herd stop by the Starbucks watering hole for a latte?”

Since first reading your work, I've know tat you are a "brain," but this one tells me even more; that you are an activist needing a few million to get you started on saving our word. This is masterful and so absolutely true! How do we start? - Bill

Few write with such beauty and imagination; all of the senses come into play when reading your words. Well done, Gene.

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.

What a feast for the senses! I can read this
and never tire of the majestic images your words
portray! Splendid Gene...

Eileen

You bring back such sweet memories when there were far less scares of buildings, streets and more farms, a peaceful like when one could stand and see for miles...

Be always safe,
Karen

Gene,
Your words give me vision to Mother Earths glory days, when sky scrapers & pollution where a strange dream. I feel like an Indian watching the buffalo as I read this poem, very lovely

Much Love To You
peace, Love & Poetry
Embraced~Embrassé
Vickie

I like "the sanctuary of distance" and "shadows hide in the neon night cry out to silent gods." I also think your title is perfectly suited to this poem.