If all goes well this morning, I’ll be on the road by 5 a.m. Atlanta time. If you’re able to participate today, please help spread the word about this prompt on Facebook, Twitter, etc., so that others can join in the poeming action today.
For today’s prompt, write a travel poem. Yes, I knew I’d be on the road today, so it was a no-brainer for me to decide on what today’s prompt should cover. You can come at traveling from any angle you wish, just be safe out on the roads.
Here’s my attempt:
“South of the Ohio”
Folks look at you funny
if you ask for a pop
to drink. They think you mean
popcorn or anything
really besides soda.
Remember this when you
round the bend at the cut
in the hill. Feel it rush
upon you fast: You’re home.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
Check out other writing advice at My Name Is Not Bob
LAND DOWN UNDER
Taking a trip,
hooked to an I.V. drip
and the countdown
will cut me down to size.
My eyes are heavy and
my stomach churns,
but I’ve learned to deal
I feel safe in knowing
that the glowing love
that surrounds me
will keep me free from harm.
I’ve traveled this road before,
but the more I do the same
thought always rings true.
There’s no place like home.
I’ll be glad to get back
when my trip is done.
I’m glad Robert posted up early. I’m having surgery in a little more than an hour and probably not post until much later if at all today.. Good luck my poetic peeps and think me some good thoughts.
Good thoughts are headed your way now. Nice poem too.
“Good” thoughts traveling
across the lake to mingle
with prayer, and give peace.
Only good thoughts to and for you Walt from the beach to the lake – Sleep well and wake refreshed – Just by beginning your “travel” you are already almost home.
. Good start and will look for you later. Happy trails…
Simple sweet smiles
sailing on sea of serenity
seeking to sooth soul
Always and especially now, Walt , I’ll be praying for you.
Healthy, healing thoughts heading your way. Will be looking for you to “surface” soon.
be well my poet friend – felt the ride of this poem
Hope all goes well with your surgery. Love the poem. That you wrote
Wishes to be well, Walt!
Walt, best wishes for everything to go well. You deserve to live pain free, and I hope this surgery will give you that human right. Take whatever time you need to ‘get off the grid’ and find that homey place you need to heal in body and spirit. Your poetic peeps will be thinking of you, and rest assured, we will be here when you get back.
Walt -
Holding you close and
traveling with you in thought.
Safe trip, to you, friend.
Thinking of you and sending happy, healthy, good stuff your way. ☼
Hope all goes well for you today Walt. Take care.
Remembering you today, Walt. Safe travel, and looking forward to hearing from you on your return!
Good luck Walt xx
Stay safe. Here’s to a speedy and simple surgery!
Thinking good thoughts and prayers your way.
Having surgery later, and you still wrote? Yikes, you’re a real man. Good luck.
Buona Fortuna
Many prayers, my friend.
Best of wishes, Walt. We’ll see you on the upside. XOXOX
thoughts and prayers to you!
Pleasant thoughts to you my friend and wish you a swift recovery.
Good luck, Walt, and welcome back.
I hope your surgery went well and you have a speedy recovery. All the best to you and yours Walt.
Thinking of you in Jersey, Walt! =D
Hope all goes well, Walt!
Walt: It’s evening of T-Day, I assume by now you have experienced a mini-resurrection and return from Robert Frost’s “road less traveled”. Welcome back to the fray of battle, or the joy of life—Poetry. Obi-wan RMA–Merlin the Musician
Good luck with your surgery Walt.
“Passengers of Time”
I could have died, doctor, I could have,
The patient shouts, died doctor, I could
Have died but I did not. How to live?
He asks. But I don’t hear…I have left.
I know this tree. On father’s shoulders,
I reach out higher–ravenous, blind,
Through nude branches, heavy with sunshine.
The cherries are pecked out; the pits hang.
But I take one, just one; oh, it’s hard,
Like a headstone–one that bears my name.
Inside the cold deadness of the pit,
I sense the promise of crimson life.
But the life inside the pit eludes
My desire for union, my exposed flesh.
Like a famished black hole, promising
heaven–delivering, only death.
The pit defies me, but reminds me
Of parting grief. It’s a rusty nail
From which my picture hangs, the darkness
Inside the room where my lights recede,
The empty space, inside our last kiss,
The summer wind, captured in my fist,
A lost letter, outside a word, a sentence.
It’s the shriek of my language, soon extinct.
Doctor I really could have died, doc.
He is shaking me now, brings me back.
Yes, you could have, I reply, you could.
What are you clinging to, what, are you?
We are passengers of time. Let go.
Unclench your fists, I will do too. Roll
the pit against your palate. Relax
your tongue before you swig the juices.
WOW….too many wonderful vivid images to select any in particular….beautiful!
this is amazing – “we are passengers of time.” this is a great poem.
Yes, Wow is apropos. Wow.
“You are here”
A small number of miles
separate here
(you are here)
from home
yet the distance
seems magnified
and those few
reminders of home,
packed in a bag,
have been contaminated
by travel,
and now
only serve
as warnings
that some roads
shouldn’t be followed.
a strong sense of threat delivered in this one
Wise words beautifully penned
Poignant reminder…
Beautiful, pithy and wise. Thankful today for your massive talent and your willingness to share it. Sincerely, el Mosk
“Shuffle off to Buffalo”
Thoughts fly North,
sending wishes and dreams
to a friend I’ve never met.
And I reflect in wonder
at how familiar you all seem.
That I could recognize your words
without the need of a byline
but might pass you on the street
never glancing
or knowing.
We live
in strange times
friends.
Friends.
True, and well captured! Good morning, friend!
“might pass you on the street never glancing or knowing…friend”
Strange times, indeed.
Yes, indeed. Nicely poemed.
Walt: Wishes to be well, Walt!
Jerry: such a great sentiment expressed in so few words!
this reminds of what drew me to writing – the recogniction of the other unknown – very well woven here
Well put indeed. Thanks, friend.
inspired by jerry
in a twilight zone ether
sweet in a place
we float in familiar
footfalls traveling
alone to gather
peacefully, passionately
comically, essentially
ourselves home in
a place never seen
by kindred others.
embraced
touched, by
and
beyond the words
friends indeed
Sweet. I like yours more than mine.
Me too!
I liked yours a lot, raven! I just like this one… even more. :-] WELL done, Pearl!
Jerry…Are you kidding?! …we are indeed in a strange land….I adored your words and felt mine pale beside….shame sent me off down some maudlin mused roads… We are a funny bunch of Cheerios! Happy poeming!
On that bright note, I raise a virtual glass of orange pop (just like Robert noted in Ohio, we say pop not soda in Ontario) to an amazing group of Cheerios and a Buffalo bard! Cheers!
what charm in this response to Jerry
to both of you
~DESTINATION~
Sails find themselves full
With potential, promise.
Billowing bursts of white
Canvas and clouds compete,
Stretching thin in the wind
Seeking deftly the horizon.
Traveling to find a place
Not seen but sensed
Peace.
‘Traveling to find a place
Not seen but sensed’
AWESOME!
Oh, I SO agree. Beautiful, Sweet Hannah!
I’m SO glad you like it my friend! <3
Misplaced your reply comment below! Smiles!
Hmm the above was for Janet!
Oh Hannah …just the perfect poem for a less than peace filled morning
Glad to rustle up a word or two to bring a feeling of peace, Pearl. Thank you.
Such beautiful words bring peace this morning
Thank you, a.paige, I appreciate your words too!
“Billowing bursts of white”–beautiful, Hannah!
Thanks a bunch, Patricia!
Good thoughts taking off here from Marblehead in the middle of the lake, oh-oh here comes Cleveland , there she goes, Ah, Mentor-on-the-Lake, Geneva-on-the-Lake, Ashtabula, Conneaut- Erie coming up ahead, now, NY line – Dunkirk, Silver Lake and Buffalo. Best wishes, good wishes, all landing in Buflalo, seeking Walt, there he is, best wishes arriving for Walt!! Good thoughts have landed for Walt!
My thoughts exactly! As I was typing, I could feel them swooping in from everywhere!
This is terrific …
Ice is falling off the roof today but a tear formed in my eye when I read this poem here, north of Lakes
Erie & Ontario! Marianv, thanks.
Best wishes to those who are traveling. I hope all goes well, Walt.
Not Traveling
The traffic is heavy already along the interstate,
cars coming, going, just passing through;
and waking this morning, I look out the window
to be sure he arrived. He’s grown now
so we don’t wait up; older now, we can’t.
For the first time, we’ll spend the holiday,
just three of us, the others spending this year
with in-laws or kept close to home and work,
ready, though not eager, to face Friday shoppers;
And while we could have, maybe should have,
traveled too, this year we choose a quiet day,
cooking less, perhaps, at leisure, with no one’s
schedules but our own to work around.
For much we’re thankful—quiet, safety,
no reason to rush, to pack and unpack,
or try to help in someone else’s kitchen. No,
we say our silent thanks, tinged with sadness,
but grateful all the same that you and I are here,
together, assured by phone calls through the day
the others, those who also fill our hearts, are safe,
are thankful for our love that travels across miles.
So sweet…so filled with poetic bounty
Wonderful.
So very peaceful. I feel soothed, though I have a many pies to bake and driving to do before tomorrow ends. <3 – Warms my heart to hear about you safe at home.
Love flies, my friend. Happy Thanksgiving.
Vacation
They traveled…
and regaled us with tales
Of mountains and castles
and seas they’ve sailed
The inns were splendid,
the vistas grand
The ocean green
on silver sand
…we ate apples on a moon-bathed fell
it was almost heaven, but we didn’t tell…
Love it, JanetRuth! It’s perfect for us “homebodies”. :- ))
It takes one to know one;)
Perfect juxtaposition… KUDOS to “almost heaven, but we didn’t tell….”
Love your words, Janet.
This is so carefree and fun. Flow is lovely…
What a journey!
I loved the imagery – love also how your name has tRuth in it. –
Happy Thanksgiving
That was a beautiful insight, Mosk!!
Enjoying my stay-cation as we speak. This is beautiful!
Pack a bag
and grab your hat
swing onto grab
the handles that
hoist you up
and welcome
with open armed
wide grin
white steam puffing
trip begun about to yet begin
hop aboard find your seat
feel all tension melt from
head through your feet
breathe in elixered clear pure
air out the window all is
there
swaying, puffing, rocking
ride, swing, smile, eat with
two hands, remember,
anticipate, sob, laugh aloud,
do what you will
out the window all is
there
live the ride
care
This is great, Pearl! It carries the rhythm of a train ride too! Smiles!
Fall Foliage
Beautiful
fall foliage lines highways
this season
though I see
naught but glaring red tail lights.
I soooo hate traffic!
Haha….nice twist
Travel Time
Nearly everyone is dead
in the Spanish novel
but only some of them are aware of it
and one keeps looking for his father,
but how long can a memory stay good in the fridge?
You can barely make out the scar in my lip anymore
but it is still there when I wipe the mirror clear after my shower
and when I shave too quickly.
There are places I would never like to return to,
late for work on the warehouse night shift,
conversations where we both keep our heads down
more than half of New Jersey.
The train stops because there is a cell phone on the tracks,
then it creaks backwards.
“… but how long can a memory stay good in the fridge?” Wow.
Overall different, thought-provoking, and uncomfortable … you always grab my core and offset it for just a moment in time. Good stuff, Mike!
Well said, Marie! Interesting piece, Mike — reaches out of the mirror and grabs you by the throat.
I agree this one is a throat grabber!
This poem travels so well in my imagination!
Very dreamlike, with the images that keep shifting and connecting. Love the end.
This is one of my favorites today. Thanks
Thanks very much, everyone! It’s been a busy NoVPAD Challenge for me, writing either very early in the morning or when I get home from work at night. I hope to do much more reading and commenting over the next four days – no work for me! Thanks again.
in a boat
or on a train
crammed close in a chugging
oil burning car
or unfurled in a private jetted plane
on bare feet
powered by your
own blood rushed
steam, vehicle irrelevant
all is but a dream
…and echoes of “life is but a dream” stay in my mind long after the poem is perused. ^_^
To the fields
To run in
Dew wet green
Of forever
Dew wet green
To the fields
Run
sigh. Still the best kind of vacation.
Oh, pretty!
Like the wide open spaces!
Such heavenly scene, Pearl.
Scrolled too fast this morning and totally missed it.
Faceless in Toledo
There once was a social network
That went a little berserk
My scroll bar is crawling
And stalling (appalling!)
And I’d swear it gave me a smirk!
(Anyone else having trouble with facebook this morning?)
I’m having trouble with the internet.period. I think it might have something to do with the ice-storm we are ‘enjoying’
It let me back in long enough to check a couple of messages and respond to Hannah’s sweet comment, but it refused to let me post my interview with Miskmask! Drat and double drat. Then it went kaploohee again. Kapluey? Caploohee? Kuplewey? Cupluis? You know what I mean.
P.S. Take care in that ice storm! And get some pretty photos.
Thank-you, We will try. No school for the kids today. I posted a few photos on my blog. It is pretty when we don’t need to drive. My 19 year old daughter needs to leave early in the morning, so this morning there were a few extra prayers sent heaven-ward:))
Oh yeah! Stopped in for a quick post of pictures & note before starting my day, but… did I say quick?? Not! fb coughed, choked and passed out. I finally gave up and left.
Better luck later… maybe…. Maybe it’s all those well-wishes for Walt — clogging up the lines!
Adorable Marie…. Maybe your connection is interrupted for just a little while as your ” pardner” sleeps in good hands! xo
Janet take care!
No troubles here as of yet, surprisingly! We have a heavy blanket of wet snow upon all @ here. Glad I got to see you despite your attitude stricken service. Warm smiles and better luck for connectivity today for you!
Travel Poem-lets
Of all the places we chose to explore
Whether mountain or desert or sea
The most beautiful sight was a little front door
Where a wee girl stood waiting for me.
Discarding the distraction of things
The baggage of Time
The weight of grief
You gathered me in your arms
And we traveled to
Undisclosed destinations
With great anticipation
We make lists, pack,
Load up the van
Play the alphabet-letter game
Stop for fries
At the road-side stand
Arrive.
Vacation.
With great anticipation
We re-pack
Load up the van,
Play the alphabet game
Stop for fries at the road-side stand
And count the hours
Until we are home
The tail-lights strung an endless strand
Of ruby Christmas lights
As far as the eye could see
I guess if there’s beauty in a night traffic jam
This is what it would be…
So sweet! Such trips are the very best kind.
Oh so wonderfully sweet malaise melting!
Wonderful!
Traveling Girl
the night before stood still
in torturous tatted gown
proclaiming vows in
blinded white whispers
to nodded in approval heads
as her soul screamed
never – bowed veiled
hair covered twisted hair
to wide smiles at promise
of forever surrender
they could know not what
awaited her in that
malevolent enbondaged bed
all through the blackened night
echoes of enbondaged ever
in the morning finally covered again
dazed in modest traveling
clothes, a bit of Jackie O
whirled through clouds
clicked – a latter day Dorothy – ill fitting
high heeled slippers
and at descent hurling
turquoise waters rising
fast- kicked them hard
beneath her seat
and ran to and
through flung
opened door
barefoot the
hot tarmac
melting chained
breath free in
perfumed air
escaped
Somehow this just races, the pace is enthralling, and it makes me wonder where the story came from. Perhaps a Victoria Holt gothic novel. Or maybe she’s Rebecca escaping Manderley? I loved it, Pearl.
Oops…. Of course, Rebecca was the first wife. The narrator is the second Mrs. deWinter.
Oh to be call up Rebecca…high praise indeed…Madame Domino..
Much moved – much appreciated…
On the Highway
Rushing and cussing,
Must remember the purpose:
Destination family.
Spot on!
this is good:)) Captured perfectly in short order!
Perfect haiku – IMHO. Thanks- mosk
Highest praise possible! Thank you sir.
Hard to be original with “On the road again” running through my mind. Off to the highway shortly myself. Blessings to those traveling (and Walt!). However, if you are going between Atlanta and Hilton Head – just remember that it is my road and you should get out of my way!
Happy Thanksgiving all!
Some REALLY tough acts to follow here. This is why I prefer NOT to read before I write!
Too late! Hey, wasn’t that a prompt a while back? Maybe I’m still running behind.
Good luck to those of us still seeking our muse. And more well wishes — Buffalo bound.
I know it, PSC! I still get intimidated at the beauty, elegance, wonder, and intelligence displayed every day out here. And then I post poet-light. Oh well, I have a great time!
It’s almost a religious ritual to me. Find the prompt, don’t read Anything, turn off music, and wait to see what simmers to the top. THEN post, and read, read, read. Safe travels!
Gosh…apologies guys ….some really dark not very well written offerings this morning…. Will travel on another track!
No apology needed, Pearl. We write what comes to mind out here. Terrific work this morning, lady!
although this morning
was in too many
faltering ways
dreary…..
Heavenly Travel Through Earth and Sea.
From here to there
is ten and thousand miles or more, or less, I’m sure,
of earth and sea…
And yet we see the same
night sky, illuminated from dawn ’til dusk, adorned
with gems and stones and systems,
lit by Her majesty.
Still our days are crowned by Him
from dawn to dusk he appears, the King
enthroned—his scepter rules, a rainbow’s drawn,
enlightening. His brightness calls—the east
and descends in the west to embrace his children,
as we slumber in dark distant places
of the same bejeweled heavens.
Wow. Stunning, a.paige. Wow.
I agree! Beautiful I can see it all clearly!
was really struck by the phrase “I’m sure” – all the ways you make that reverberate through this one
Thank you all so much—Pearl, Marie, Hannah, Jane, and everyone else whose comments I sometimes fail to respond to. I really appreciate your time and thoughts; your kind words “reverberate” through souls that search for meaning.
The fishes are often too elusive and swim away before I could grab any of them.
Guess I caught a few good ones this time.
IN CASE OF INVITATION
(If recited in one breath, “invite-or” will accept quickly, and leave.)
I have to work. I have to play.
I simply have to sneeze.
The destination is too cold,
and I don’t want to freeze.
I can’t today because it’s late.
Tomorrow is no better.
The next I have to stay at home
to write a business letter.
I’m not prepared. I’m indisposed.
My bags aren’t even packed.
I need to wash my hair tonight,
and that is just a fact.
I mustn’t leave right now, you see
I can’t, but if I could
I’d give it further thought and then
I’m not so sure I would.
But ask again another time,
And if I can, I might
As long as we don’t go too far,
And home’s within my sight.
(From one of the first poems I ever wrote.)
Terrific! Your voice was there from the beginning…. Shel silversteiny !
Oh, wow! Now THAT’s a compliment! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
this makes me smile and think of so many stories – love the structure and rhyming too (I have to wash my hair – the classic in execuse abuse. So playful
Thanks Jane! “The classic in excuse abuse” made me giggle.
I LOVE THIS, MARIE! So fun to read aloud (read it twice, the kiddos loved it)!
Kudos from kiddos? It doesn’t get any better than that!!
Lol on the kiddo kudos!
First ever poems!! I’m experiencing rhyme-envy. Great one, ME, and more than a little like some of my relatives;)
Love it! So playful and fun and yes… agreed… Shel-like!
I failed to get my sprout out yesterday but what a find today – traveling vegetable combo poem
Brussel Sprouts
only time I ever saw you
in your element
you took my breath away
not that you did anything
it was the place, your space
acres and acres absorbing
light, salt-drench air, and our
view, you there on that coastal
stretch of cliff and shore as
we drove that highway north
yet when I see you offered
on the silver tray today
I know from past experience
you will be bitter in my mouth
despite your vibrant path
Jane Penland Hoover
November 23, 2011
Prompt #22 and #23 vegetable/travel
Pad
Jane…. Now this is some creative two-fer! Wonderful!
Hear, hear!
Super creative combo, Jane!!
“acres and acres absorbing
light, salt-drench air, and our
view, you there on that coastal
stretch of cliff and shore as
we drove that highway north”
I love the feeling of this stanza!
You made the brussel sprout even more on its “silver tray”.
Such dignity given to the humble sprout! I love this one – what beautiful contrast between the bitterness and the vibrant path. Great stuff.
Everyone
Everyone is going somewhere
And I am simply not
Suppose I could go if I wanted to
Instead in a corner eating worms I rot
They do not taste good on my tongue
The slide and slip and quiver
Yet I keep shoveling them in
Even though they make me shiver
Poke myself with a stick
Hit my head with a two by four
Do not have to leave or search
To put down the worms
And savor all I am thankful for
Happy Thanksgiving to all….
Aww!
Much for which to be thankful in the midst of the ick, I hope. Happy Thanksgiving back, Pearl. Take care!
Oh, PKP, I hope that isn’t true – if it is, I wish you could come with us!
“…Do not have to leave or search
To put down the worms
And savor all I am thankful for…”
lol a.paige …. thanks for seeing this
such sweet poeming friends… No worm eating here… You are all dear
and now on to read and these inane rhymes CLEAR
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Those were the days
Are we nearly there, Mum?
Are we nearly there?
Ten minutes in
to the journey,
the mother is tearing her hair.
I can see the sea, Mum,
I can see the sea.
No dear, that’s the sky,
look, and that’s a thunder cloud.
We’ll be there in time for tea.
Mum, I want a wee now;
it’s urgent, I want a wee.
We can’t possibly stop here, dear,
we’re on the motorway.
Just wait ‘til we find a tree.
Can we play I spy, Mum?
can we play I spy?
Yes, if you do it quietly,
and don’t distract your Dad.
I spy with my little eye, something beginning with Y.
Yellow yoke, and that’s a joke,
the children yell with one voice.
Mother groans
she wants to disown
her offspring, but hasn’t a choice.
I spy with my little eye
says weary Dad at last,
something beginning with C.
The caravan, the children shout,
and we can see the sea.
Great one Viv. This so reminded me of my childhood holidays to Devon and Cornwall.
Adorable, Viv. You captured the memories of travel with children — the sweet with the unnerving. Nice job!
A lot of fun, this is. – Thanks Mosk
Wow, that one takes me back, my dad at the wheel, unable to ask directions or stop for wees. Loved it.
Three quickies from me today. Happy Thanksgiving preparations to all!
Traveling
When you’re in high school,
the zebras watch you like hawks.
Same thing in college.
But once you’re in the big show
you can travel all you like!
Canada
The Canada geese
are flying north for winter.
Climate change, perhaps?
First Thanksgiving with my wife’s aunt
This half-cooked turkey
gave up its life so I could
get food poisoning.
a cool threesome – thinking of safe journey and eating now
Loved #3 best. Happy Thanksgiving.
I’m with you – 3 is a riot.
I love you so. The last one got guffaws. Happy fully cooked bird.
In the Marysue Chronicles today
it is 1969 and things are getting
interesting.
I take to the road in the family’s
old Ford station wagon, the fishing car,
and leave the Camero in the driveway
for the folks to finish buying or not.
The Ford burns oil, but it fixes cheap,
and I can sleep in it. I don’t know where to go.
Maybe to the Grand Canyon, or
Saskachewan ( I did a report
in the fifth grade, sent for free things
from the ads in National Geographic,
and always wanted to know the
endlessness ), or Portland.
Franklin Road
is Highway 31.
“always wanted to know the endlessness” = awesome line
This one’s soaked through with memory and hope. Thanks for sharing!
On the Corner of Memory Lane and Gone
(for Nancy Tackett)
At eighty-three, she’s not yet finished with the world,
Remembering trips on freighters, planes, and trains,
Hiking miles with luggage and catching cabs in lands
She barely retains, languages she never learned,
She and her best pal doing unladylike moving
In climates and on landscapes few people did,
The only women from their village to escape
And still return, only to leave again hungry to see.
At eighty-three, her sight and hearing flag
And her walking more than a few steps
Is a challenge to her dreams of Taj Mahals
And Serengetis, her Washingtons and Grand Canyons,
Her shopping trips and theater jaunts, but her
Cane stands pertly by the door and she is ready to go
Whenever she’s invited–still a good companion,
her ready imagination always creating travels yet to come,
Her mind rejecting the idea that she’s past all that,
Too old, too infirm, too blind, deaf, and lame,
For she has a traveling spirit, good walking shoes,
and she has not yet finished with the world.
That’s how I want to be at eighty-three.
Here’s to a traveling spirit and a good pair of walking shoes. Love the vivid picture you paint here!
I agree with the gentlemen above me. And I’ll add, you never disappoint.
I love this.
“and she has not yet finished with the world.” Sums it all up. I want to know her! Wonderful poeming, Jane, and a goal for myself too.
Loved this one Jane!
Thanks for the kind remarks. I want to be like that at 83 too! She’ll get a kick out of your comments.
Once, in a Wood
“Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the one less traveled by.” ~Robert Frost
Two roads diverged:
therefore, I had to make a choice.
Two roads diverged
and then something inside me urged
“Take the less traveled road.” This voice
said, “Who knows where it leads.” My choice.
Two roads diverged.
###
Note: The form is Rondelet.
I dig it – a remixed Robert Frost! ****! (That’s four stars, old movie rating for Excellent)
Like this take on one of my all-time favourites!
Second Mosk’s review…. WOWEEEEEE!
Lands of Opportunity
Cass says, she’s saved up eight grand already for one
round-the-world adventure;
she has a scrapbook brimming with the seven seas,
aching Caribbean shorelines fuzzy with palm fronds
rubbing borders with Halong Bay
and its humpbacked rocks; and on the facing page,
photogenic Zanzibar raising a surprised head.
When I go down the shore and stick my toes in,
she says, I feel connected; and I know
how she means, like a capillary for all the currents
ricocheting around the marble, stirring up clouds
as they go; I feel it too.
And what trimmed bloody thread doesn’t want
to see where it was spooled from;
sail, skim, surf along the edges of continental shelf;
what a wonderful thing it must be, to have money
saved, to pay for a Voyage,
to afford the most necessary of dreams.
But me, I don’t have that kind of luxury; I tell Cass
she’s lucky, and wish her safe journeys,
and I’ll spend my days gazing out the office window,
thinking of her yachting around the Camargue
or wherever, while I’m just earning enough
to scrape by; but then again,
when I’m walking down the Avenue, and I hear
the fruit cart men hawking dates, the old veterans
weeping into their beards, the fashion harpies
haggling at the Egyptian jewelry table, the subway
plumed with pneumonia beneath my feet: well, then.
Then I know I am a capillary, too; I move with
land-blood; I am seeing the world just like Cass is;
and I hardly have to spend a cent to do it.
Love the images of capillary and land-blood, and being New York City-born, the journeys taken by looking out at the street are familiar. A round the world adventure would be nice, too, though.
What a great tour!
That is just awesome. I got a little chill there at the end when you said “Then I know I am a capillary too…”
Joseph, my little connection-seeking capillaries got a little buzz off this one. Like your friend, I see
Lovely.
imported goods and think I should go to the source to purchase rather than buying it there before me, get a shawl and a trip as well. Money, however, is an issue unless you travel really close to the ground (where I live
Catching up with my newfound theme of two in one – yesterday and today
Blue Hands
sweetness of blueberry
lingers on my tongue
long after juices moved
by gravity fell through
into consumptions
cavity of darkened calls
where fruit transforms
Inspires digestions juice
To flow and flow, my
Mouth crave more and more
Until some newfound energy
Walks me out the door
Down rows of bush to pick pails
full of purple for tomorrow
Jane Penland Hoover
November 23, 2011
Prompt #22 and #23
PAD
Getting Around
The first stop on my daily trip is the bathroom
I sit and think about what to do today
Then to the sink to take my pills
And brush what teeth I have left
Brush my thinning hair a bit
Find some clothes and get dressed
And my journey continues
On to the kitchen for my next stop
Breakfast for me and my lovely wife
Scrambled eggs and ham for her
Oatmeal and coffee for me
Check the news and weather
And my iPhone for emails
Next stop on the horizon
To the front door to kiss my wife good-bye
As she head off for her job at the bank
Then I head for my office
Check the job lists for leads
Or claim my unemployment
Sure wish they were hiring
So my daily trip could be longer
Thank God I’ve got a military retirement
Thank God I am a really good cook
Thank God that He provides
Thank God I can still get around
Thanks indeed – you bring out some great details that I could recognize and some that were surprising. Great.
Indeed. I lose my own household destination 20 times a day.
The Red Door
There is no beginning.
Start where you are.
Follow the chain-linked spine
Undulating atop a wall dotted
with windows;
ripples surge and crest
where dragons face themselves
and turn to stone above a gateway,
round as the world, nailed with iron,
ornate locks rusted closed.
Enter through a red door within the door,
sliced in the oval—almost invisible.
Stop across a metal threshold
hand high and stretched like an arm
beneath the passage.
Travel a path into a garden, just past a stone hut
cluttered with rubble, rags, and tins
where lives a woman, shriveled hag and wary
Nod to her; say nothing.
She is frozen by your eyes’ blue flame,
your eyes, round as the gateway.
Dive into sky, descend into arbors,
carry light above your head.
Scan and remember, sense, sound, seal.
Trees wave and bow
and flowers reach and nod
Earth sprouts beneath your gaze, step.
Look everywhere
Walk until you can’t
Then turn—
Don’t look back—
And pass through the gateway,
blue as stone
soft as breath
vast as a keyhole.
Mythic stuff. Especially like the beginning and the ending (well, and everything in-between, too). “Vast as a keyhole”… excellent phrase!
Such lovely fairy-tale imagery… “the chain linked spine” and “frozen by your eyes’ blue flame” and “Dive into the sky” I could read it again and again.
I appreciate the comments. Happy Thanksgiving!
Tourist
“The worst thing about being a tourist is having other tourists recognize you as a tourist.” – Russell Baker
Look! A Tourist!
Juggling maps with ‘lost’ expressions.
Look! A Tourist!
Easy to spot, but the surest
method: their fashion concessions
and their photo op obsessions.
Look! A Tourist!
###
Yep…another Rondelet.
And, oh yeah…Happy Thanksgiving!
After living in three cities now that regularly make the top 10 most-visited list in the country… I feel ya on this. (From the grumbly-resident perspective, at least.
This Rondelet (and the one above) is just perfect!
Traveling
I smile
a while
to see
I’m free
to make
a break
from what
I’ve got—
a day
away
a land
I’ve planned
my sight
in flight
no trip
to skip
turns sad
to glad.
Yahoo! That was fun!
Thanks, Buddah.
Traveling Haikus
I grew up in Maine
For nineteen years I lived there
I want to go back
Okinawa rocked
The Air Force sent me over
I want to go back
Germany was great
The people are wonderful
I want to go back
Loved it in Japan
The land of the rising sun
I want to go back
Hawaii was fun
But two years wasn’t enough
I want to go back
Now in Florida
Been here now for sixteen years
Think I’m gonna’ stay
I liked this very much – Mosk
Just in time for this trip:
***
faking
trip taking
decision making
heart breaking
homecome for me.
© 2011 Mariya Koleva
This is great.
Tryin’ a Triolet today…
Objects in Mirror are Smarter Than They Appear
Contents may have shifted during flight.
This is what I know: it’s time to be
-lieve in more, not travel quite so light.
Contents may have shifted during flight.
Rearview mirror’s broken, so I might
just look ahead instead, though I can see
contents may have shifted during flight.
This is what I know: it’s time to be.
Great!
It’s time to be…
Yes, De! It’s Time to Be! Dr. Suess Ain’t Got Nuthin’ on Ye! –
I say it’s great. Is this going in your upcoming book? – Moskowitz
De, every line is terrific; I love all the allusions (“rearview mirror’s broken, so I might/just look ahead instead”)
Very nice. I love the flow in this piece. Heck, take back nice, this is excellent!
Getting There
You make your plans in detail.
Reserve rooms and book your flights.
You look forward to the getaway
and peaceful days and nights.
You pack your bags caringly,
as you prepare to roam.
You head out on the winding road
to a home away from home.
It’s all about the journey now,
to getting there from being here.
Be safe and have a good time
as you move about this sphere.
Places to go, people to see
Things to do, so let it be.
By Michael Grove
Finally, caught up and now I’m off and running–gravy, potatoes, pie need fixin’ Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
Adventures R Us
Now the kids are grown
(Eventhough they’re still at home)
We’ve hit the road
For three weeks straight
A different city
A different state
And after 21 days of this
Sleeping in my own bed
Is bliss
Ah, the bliss that is home. Well-written.
I do miss my own bed when I’ve been gone. This captures that feeling perfectly!
HAIKU ON ICE
ornamental grass
yellowed blades covered with ice
wintry canopy
Dedicated to all those who are travelling somewhere–hopefully, not through ice!
An old one that’s on prompt (seen through fresh eyes, as I now have a friend who has just lost her young husband):
http://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/2010/05/03/packing-black/
And, for a real treat, listen to De read this work at:
http://www.virtualpoetryreading.com/?p=14
(Thanks De, for being the first poet to post at my modest little site.)
Aaaaack. No fair posting my FIRST EVER reading. Yikes. It’s all muffly and weird. But maybe you’ll get some audio traffic today.
Post your spoken poems, gang. You’ve GOT to sound better than me!
Thanks for the plug, de. Yes, please give the virtualpoetryreading line a call at 951-665-8161 and recite your poem.
Also, if you are one of the poets who have contributed to the site, my most sincere thanks to you – you make the site go!
Happy Thanksgiving, Buddah Moskowitz
Traveling Light
I’m traveling light
through this shared illusion
because thinking
I need to bring anything
is also an illusion.
If I put on certain records
and open that box with the
scented letters,
I am taken to yesterday.
When I see little babies
laughing, safe and adored
with softly wrinkled grown-ups,
I travel to tomorrow.
When I have the
Chicken Cashew Nut from
the Royal Thai in Riverside
I travel to Heaven’s kitchen.
When I write
that rare combination
of perfect thought and feeling
I travel to places
previously unknown
sometimes wondrous,
sometimes scary.
So, I travel light.
All I need to pack
is my brain.
“All I need to pack/is my brain” – something i regularly forget on trips. This is fab…
Ohhhhh. I KNEW I forgot something. I wonder if the concierge can score one for me?
This is so good!
That rare combination, indeed! Love this one. So often I hear about books helping the reader travel – nice to hear of the poet traveling him or herself!
Buddah, this one is awesome. Starting it with illusion set the tone properly. Way to go!
Yay, a travel poem!
(from nano character’s pov)
Drawing Near
I have my prayers, my GPS
The radio, the internet,
My unborn babe, my new cell phone
I’m not alone, I’m not alone
As pines and rocks go inching by
Through mountains, rain and gloomy sky
As starving men desire food
I long for you, I long for you
As mile markers go slowly past
I dream of seeing you at last
My love for you becomes so clear
As I draw near, as I draw near
Market Day
We travel to the hill towns,
where clandestine church bells ring.
to see the real Italy.
It’s market day in Regello.
Porcini and chestnuts
spill out like jewels for us to choose;
so too a cosmos of cheeses
with names like Florentine artisans
Wild boar, their tusks and snouts discarded,
is set out alongside the stoic saints;
rabbits hanging, as if recently escaped,
leaving their heads behind.
So much for the luck of the foot.
There’s nothing like this
anywhere, you say.
And I see Teti’s market
next to the tire shop,
beauty hidden in the uneven floor boards,
where Teti the Butcher tends to business
with deft strokes of the cleaver and
collects insurance premiums in nickels and dimes.
I see my mother sending me for
wedges of cheese, and fresh-roasted chestnuts;
the silky cutlets of veal, fat pork sausage and rabbit
I carry home wrapped in sheets of old newspaper.
And, like here,
sawdust under our feet,
the color of music in a minor key.
Out front by the barrel of olives
I can see Mr. Teti’s wife,
a bird-of-passage in strict black plumage,
who carries her Italianita
in the dirt under her nails, fresh from steerage,
here to where her people are.
Her hands wander over saffron and ebony beads,
then hestitate on a cross of thin air.
She lifts her face to the sun, the way the deaf lean in to read lips,
and sings in her small sure voice,
a language I almost understand,
her way of keeping alive.
Bella, bella, bella! I can taste it, and I can hear Signora Teti singing!
Travels
I wrote on traveling to my native town, based on some memories
The Gift
Started out finding a rock/lump
which was small
so I was nervously optimistic
but a full body scan
showed lots of tiny rocks
everywhere.
I have to admit
my optimism spiraled to nothing.
Everything changed.
Life wasn’t about
the laundry, meals
and homework with the kids,
it was consumed
by test after test
and then treatment
after treatment.
I responded well to treatment
and while my optimism
is not galloping to the finish line,
it has picked up some steam
and has been slow and steady.
I actually enjoy
the small things in life
more than I ever did before
except for the laundry.
So, I’m still continuing on my journey
and not knowing
what is around the corner
is okay with me,
living one day at a time
in the present
is quite a gift.
“except the laundry” !!!
I love this – and good luck with the fight. <3
Oh, Michelle. Yesterday’s pea poem scared me, and here it is, in full. Beautifully written. You’re an inspiration, and now in my prayers.
Thanks! Sorry for scaring you but I’m perfectly fine. The poems are not about me but about the men and women I have known who have fought cancer – some won and some did not. Have a safe holiday (for those of you in the states) and happy Wednesday (for those of you not in the states).
Thankful to hear this. I have friends struggling, as well. You have relayed the feeling so poignantly.
De-stinations
I
ache for lake
crave waves
pine for trees
breathe in breeze
fancy free
stand for sand
long for space
covet cove
but live in love
in this desert place.
Love the title! Love this piece!
Ah, De, you’ve done it again. Love it! I agree about the title. Genius!
Traveling
Before we’re born
we travel with our mums
everywhere they go.
We are carried
right beneath her heart.
And after birth, we are carried
for as long as we can’t walk
and before our
demand to
walk
all by ourself.
After that,
the trips begin
to get
longer.
Trips to the bathroom.
Alone, Mommy!!
Trips to a play date
and running across the park
and visiting neighbors
or grandma.
Before too long,
its off to school and
daily rides on the bus
or by bicycle.
And as we grow,
the trips get longer,
further away
from the beginning
until
we move away,
and our parents no longer
get to say
where we go
what we do
who we see.
But hopefully
we choose to visit
when we can
at the holidays
and make special trips
back in time
to visit with those
who started our feet
on our lives’ path.
And hopefully,
we will be there with them
when they make their
own last journey
onward.
Diana Terrill Clark
I have never wandered, though
my destination, always precise
has led me farther
than a hundred seasons
or ten thousand tomorrows
perched at the summit
of any dream imaginable
my road was paved in a lofty
foreignness that wrapped me –
willingly I admit –
in the silence of a book long closed
for I sought to lose myself
in sounds and odors contrasting
with my childhood customs
I desired the charms
of this distant place
to reinvent my spirit songs
and let them nourish on the tides
of my tears
now my eyes are dry
and time, my faithful shadow
has hidden me so well
that I can no longer
find the return path to the place
my weary bones once called home
to lose myself
[2011.23.11...a]
Maybe a Road-Trip South is in Order?
Winter in the Southwest:
the weather is grand
yet we’re all too aware
of the vast snowy land
not too far to the north
where so many dwell.
But let me say this:
the weather here’s swell
this time of year and I
can’t help but boast
because while others freeze,
we can sit here and toast
our arms and our legs
in the warm winter sun.
It sounds like a lie but
it’s true and it’s fun.
We eat turkey outside
on the patio here
Family and friends
pie and cold beer.
So if you are weary of
rain, sleet and snow,
come visit Arizona
you’re welcome, you know!
Diana Terrill Clark
I’ll be right there! What a lovely invitation, lady.
hope everyone has safe travels!
High Hopes
Hardships of voyage
Sickness, hunger, filth, and death
Pilgrims grinned and bore
Sailing through the life
Hoping choices bring blessings
Thankful for each one
Voyages
Rickets and scurvy
are no longer worries
when there’s no horizon
in sight.
But heart (topsy-turvy)
it scatters and scurries;
must pack vitamin ‘see’
and light.
“heart (topsy-turvy)” Best rhyme for Scurvy EVER. ^_^ Love this one!
IN MY HEART
Yes, my grown children,
Are on their way today!
Coming to the coast!
For Thanksgiving,
Football,
Fun and good humor,
And to see their mom!
Preparation has been standard,
House is warm and ready,
Food plenty,
Rooms made up,
For their comfort,
Movies lined up,
Wine chosen!
Rain is expected,
Firewood is handy,
As is the apple cider.
On Saturday,
We head north,
To see my big family,
Just for a few nights,
My dad’s health is changing,
Making this visit,
All the more important!
Yet as far as we will travel,
As long as the children are here,
And as many people as we will visit,
Here with me every day,
They’re always present,
Deep in my heart . . .
Surrounded in love!
GO WEST YOUNG MAN
The son rises in the east,
and his eyes search the
western skies. An inclination
that that location offers his
comfort and rest. The best
of what he needs. He is
indeed grateful; offering thanks
to all who confess a professed
attraction to his very being.
Seeing the westward expanse
dance before him, he knows
the heart flows in the same rhythm.
Give him time to heal
and he’ll give you a sense of his direction.
Go West, young man!
**A sincere thank you to all the well wishes and kind words. I had an out-patient surgery to remove what turned out to be a mass quantity of nasal polyps. Bandaged and resting and just testing my poetic wile.
I won’t be back to write, it’s a bit more difficult than I thought it’d be; maybe just to read when I can tonight. The reason I call this my poetic home. There’s a big family here. Thanks again. Walt.
Make that, Go Rest, young man! Glad you’re back and poeming away.
Rest, relax and recharge…. Happy that all went well
Do take good care, Walt! Your delight to write will be missed! Much love and positive thoughts to you!
ROAD SHOW
side of the road
middle of the road
hugging the road
one for the road
road to perdition
hit the road jack
bump in the road
road to ruin
end of the road
at a crossroads
taking the high road
road to success
on the road again
long and winding road
the road less traveled
2011-11-23
P. Wanken
***
curio
***
happiness
carries
the bag
we call
stomach
sits with it
lets others
open it
between
the two
happiness
swallows grief
over nothing
A Matter of Perspective
The road to heaven narrows with age
but it’s always in the far distance
a vanishing point on the horizon
that like a mirage disappears
fools us into believing
we will never reach that point, so
self-will drives us down rocky paths.
The road to heaven narrows with age
and it’s always in the near distance
this final destination travelled
through the years on wings of faith
a place of peace and harmony
forgiveness and everlasting love.
We make a u-turn, do our best to reach it.
A Little Traveling Music
Jeff Healey holds the keys
To my time machine.
Every time I hear him sing “Angel Eyes,”
I am transported back to 1989
And piercing blue eyes
That saw right through my hollow heart.
Together on the hood of my Camaro,
We spent hours plotting
Our course through the summer stars,
Flicking spent cigarettes into the gravel,
Watching the shallow arc of the embers in the darkness.
Our teenage sense of invincibility
Made our future seem certain.
Soon enough we learned
That type of arrogance
Strips away illusions,
Leaving misery and pain in its wake
As the final chord of our love song
Faded into silence.
Jeff Healey can have the keys back now,
At least until my next trip into the past.
Going to YouTube Angel Eyes right now.
Next
The Korea trip brought me so close
To Japan, I thought I might as well,
And then, since I was practically there,
I could see some of China and then go home,
Maybe by way of Vietnam, which is just
Next door to Cambodia and Thailand.
A shame not to visit Angkor Wat and
Bangkok, so close to Ha Long Bay,
Only an inch or so on mapped waterway,
A bus ride from Bangkok to the islands,
And just a skip to Bali, Malaysia,
And Singapore, a weekend upriver
With Iban tribesmen in Borneo, gone
From harvesting heads to growing pepper.
I should go home, my family will worry,
But I’m really close to Tibet, which as you know
Is next door to India, that vast and spicy country,
Gateway to central Asia and the Middle East,
I could head westward home after leaving Nepal…
I may never go home at all.
You are so prolific Jane! And every one a jewel. Great stuff today.
Thanks, Dan.
Wander Lust
Maybe a loose wire or a damaged
neural link, a chink in the chain
of thoughts, a trick of genetics,
an ancestral memory,
a kinship with Odysseus,
perhaps – I’m under some Sirens’ sway.
A hitch-hiker’s ghost
wants me to go, he’s a hobo
looking for a ride, with a switch
on his track stuck a long way back.
My compass needs me to stray.
I have wadded up the map
with the coffee stain slur
that looks like a shortcut once took.
Then I check for the chalk-line
etched on the tree trunk
chewed down by beavers long ago,
and I follow the accidental fork
on this river the vermin have dammed.
Right or left? I don’t know: I’m a child
lost on purpose, on safari gone
deliciously bad. I’m not waiting
for anyone’s call. I hear the word “travel”
and suddenly I think
… Vladivostock! Trans-Siberian rail.
You’re a traveler after my own heart. A wonderful poem, Dan.
“I’m a child lost on purpose.” Great line.
DRIVING TO THANKSGIVING
On the car radio, ads for stocking-
stuffers and discount turkeys. News
of floods and fires far away and closer –
disaster prevented, deferred, or
a whole neighborhood sluiced or flamed
away. What has the world – the weather –
come to? It must be global. After every
station-break, some new scare. Squalls
ahead. Get your kids the latest craze
called “Look for Blood.” We’re almost
there, Grandma’s cozy candy-apple-cider
sanctuary. Crossing what used to be
a babbling brook. Running fast and high.
What is the current saying under its
blue-gray, icy breath? A deepening,
insistent hum beneath static
on the radio – the beating like a
fatalistic drum.
Ominous. I like it!
Grandpa’s Coming
Today, my father travels by himself
from Ohio, diagonally across Indiana
(statewide home of Sunday drivers,
he always says) to just the barest,
easternmost tip of Illinois, on the lake.
Chicago is not, after all, its own state,
though it sometimes feels as if we’re
perched alone on a rock that juts
over the water. He is traveling
even now, guided by GPS and the
SUV-crossover that talks to him,
shows him how to back up without
hitting anything, and is, he says,
easier for him to get in and out of
than the red Toyota that was
the last car my mother ever knew.
What would she say about this
beige behemoth that coaches him
now that she is gone, the front seat
filled with extra cargo? She would
find it excessive, gross, as I suppose
I do, too, except I am so glad to have
a parent left, my father, bringing us
himself for Thanksgiving, and I am
glad he has someone to talk to
through cornfields, a lonely drive.
KEROUAC ALLEY
On the road
through San Francisco
I think of
Jack and Neal
and the adventures
we choose for
our own lives
and those we
share them with.
Hi, Robert,
It’s been a while. I don’t know why I stopped receiving your prompts via email, so I’ve been out of touch and bummed that I’ve missed the 2011 November PAD. I’ve looked all over the page on how to reinstitute my mailings but can’t find a way. Will you please help? My email address is madeline40@gmail.com.
And if all goes well, I’ll join the PAD in April
Happy Thanksgiving.
Madeline
“The path most travelled”
See the tracks in the carpet that weave ‘round the scratched
coffee table, the cat-clawed Lazy- boy, the Peace Lily plant from
Aunt Ida’s funeral. See the worn tracks of gray from years of
pacing in combat boots, phone to my ear, living room to
hallway to bedroom and back. Ring around the Rosy, pocket
full of posey, (child, I hear your plight and pleas.) See me pacing
in that worry circle adding another worry groove that Service master
or Loreal Revitalift or Botox can’t fluff or plump or fill, each step
another prayer, another march of faith, another worn path before
I drop my hands and voice in the final chant of ashes, ashes and
we all fall down.
Pingback: Traveling The Page | Soul's Music
My traveling response may be found here:
https://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2011/11/23/traveling-the-page/
Thanks
This came out all of a piece, and needs work on line breaks and punctuation, but no time today.
Time Travelers All
We have lived from then
‘til now, and counted years,
and fears, and overcome,
and persevered, and in our minds,
cast back a line, and hooked
a memory, pulled it into bobbing
boat, and still we float,
moving forward, looking back,
and being in the now, the prow
on course, as yet, but sometimes
tears upon a face will put pause,
and time and space engulf the reason
that we came to travel this way,
for a season, or more, and why we go,
and what it’s for, we will not know
until we finally run ashore.
Okay Cara, I’m giving this form a whirl.
Brooklyn to Long Island (Skeletonic verse)
Stop and go;
always heavy traffic flow.
Belt & L.I. E. both blow.
Watch out, here comes snow!
Dead cigar smells fill the auto,
nauseating me, to and fro.
Afraid I will have to throw
up; well, wouldn’t you know.
Of course sister has to pee,
badly so she does decree.
Dad stays calm deliberately,
says we’ll get there eventually.
Visit with cousins; see their tree.
Uncle Bill thinks I’m still three,
wonder what new doll’s for me.
Next year we’ll renew our plea
to stay home and watch T.V.
Love it, Sara! I think you nailed the form. That could be describing my childhood, as well. I grew up on Long Island, and we would visit relatives in Manhattan, Brooklyn, D.C., or Chicago for the holidays. I can particularly relate to dead cigar smells in the car!
Shanty…
On a bright summers day I will think of my sweet love,
Though she be so far o’er the thundering sea,
I’ll dance the yardarm and set more sail from above,
And drive my ship home a brave captain I’ll be,
On a grey autumn day I will think of my loved one,
The gale blows so hard that she’s lifting the spray,
But I will come home for to see my new young son,
Come on my bright laddies let’s be under way,
On a cruel winters day I will dream of my dear wife,
The anchors away the lee shore it bears down,
But the sea it be damned if I’ll give it one more life,
No sailor on this ship is going to be drown,
A’home we be lads in the gig now and pull ye,
In the arms of our loved ones we give thanks and we pray,
For soon we catch tide and away our ship will be,
Alone on the sea sail for many a’day…
Pass away…
In the misty Mekon mountain,
Chased I faraway fabled fountain,
From Zanzibar to Xanadu,
Chased magic waters just for you,
Through paddy fields,
Past native shields,
Sleepless on my quest,
Did I the orient scour my flower to save you without rest,
One day the tricky treetop bird,
Haunting song lamented me,
Bitter broken did I listen,
To it’s deadly melody,
And like a poem without rhyme,
I failed to conquer us more time,
The reaper took you in your sleep,
While in fearless forest did I creep,
Now here I sit and pity me,
By my loved ones side should I be,
While trickle torture turned our time,
Not being there a mindless crime,
If time but offered me one more chance,
Hand in hand with you I’d dance,
With warmth I’d brush your hair each day,
Every second would I stay,
Regrets have I for chasing dreams,
Not realizing what true love means,
If only could I find a way,
To cradle you… caress and kiss you… as you gently… cast away…
Montauk Memories
Hurray, hurray, we’re Montauk bound
to sands and ocean, perfect vacation.
When I hear waves roar, I calm down.
Hurray, hurray, we’re Montauk bound,
the best place I have ever found.
That’s why you’ll hear this incantation,
hurray, hurray, we’re Montauk bound
to sands and ocean, perfect vacation.
Nice Sara! Have a great getaway.
Stay-cation
When
I come back
to work they will
ask me where I’ve been
Were my travels long and pleasurable?
I will nod, smile and offer only this:
“I so enjoyed the islands”
(Long Island, Staten
Island, Coney
Island…)
LOVE this little ‘fib.’
Lol. That tickled me
Over the River: An Update
Over the river and through the wood,
we motor down I-95.
Our SUV flies, fast as it could,
over the river and through the wood.
Grandma’s Thanksgiving sure will be good!
We hope to get there and back alive.
Over the river and through the wood,
we motor down I-95.
Nice! I like this.
Pingback: rich or barren, as you decide « lost in translation
It ain’t the bike that
Makes the man but the side car
For his Russian Blue
Sorry! Can’t keep my eyes open, and tomorrow’s another busy day, so…
Time to Travel
Keys at hand (hands on keys)
poised to travel (if you please);
busy day, sleepy head
guess I’ll travel off to bed!
Amen! Sounds good! Not to far behind you! I’m bringing in the caboose!
PLEASE TAKE ME TO THE BANK
Deposit.
Ten dollars.
Rise for work
Subtract a dollar.
Work.
Subtract five.
Home.
Subtract a dollar
Kids.
Subtract two fifty
Church.
Subtract seven dollars
Wife.
Insufficient funds.
Please make a deposit.
Really, wow. That says alot
Last Trip to the Store: Thanksgiving
In the wind kicking up across the parking lot,
the leaves looked like gingerbread men,
running for their lives, while shoppers,
darting in the stores for one more thing
before closing time, pulled their jackets
closer about them, grateful for the warmth
just inside. Back outside in the cold sunlight,
they moved faster toward their cars
that would take them back home, ready
to occupy the kitchen for hours, moving
through the annual ritual, little changed
in years. Maybe this year, they’ll try
a new cranberry relish or plan a meal
less bounteous, more sensible. But no,
the nibbling on turkey sandwiches, eating
spoonfuls of fruit salad right out of the bowl,
the strategic rearrangement of leftovers,
from table to fridge, from serving dish
to airtight bowls, smaller and smaller,
like nesting dolls—the aftermath seems
to be the point of all the effort, all the fuss.
Over the River (a sevenling)
They travel here
from far and near
and all points in between
to feast on turkey
and sip some chai
and reminisce over pumpkin pie
and make plans for next year.
I like it! Never heard of a sevenling though. Seems neat.
Thanks, Benjamin. The (simplified) rules are that a sevenling contains seven lines in three stanzas (3/3/1), and each of the first two stanzas must contain an element of three items/ statements/ names/ objects, etc.
Between Hither and Yon
Since childhood, she was able to travel
between the hither and yon
visiting with the fairies and elves,
later, with angels and saints.
In her old age, she still takes the trip
into that land across the veil,
visiting now with the spirits of those
who left this place, but who linger
at the doorway of dreams.
“Day: 24″
No sight of land
Left stranded
Bullied by winds
Not remembering where this journey ends
Or where it began
Just know the sea serpents
Are attentive
Waiting
For the wrong move to be made
And the crew and I
Are slowly breaking our
Unbreakable union
As animosity leaks into our pack
Water to my left
Water to my right
And no peace but restless waves beating away our last ounce of
Sanity
Sea air
Hypnotizes
Even the strong willed
So what chance do I have
Against these
Sea demons
Exhausted from the
Routines of ship
Not sea sick
Just sick
Of the sea
Drive us
Mad
And I’ll be glad
To sleep
In a
Soft
Comfy
Bed
The Name is suppose to be ‘Day:23′
Pingback: The Duck and The Turtle | TrollPants 2.0
The Duck and The Turtle
A duck and a turtle set off on a quest
To find out which end of the earth was the best.
The duck flew up north, then down south, and then back
North-south-north-south until he completely lost track.
The turtle, meanwhile, meandered and strolled
For a while, until the whole “quest” thing got old,
Whereupon he decided, “Right here is the spot
That’s the best; all the rest are the spots that are not!”
From that day to this, turtles move most reluctant
(Though one sometimes wonders which way his friend duck went).
http://trollpants.wordpress.com
almost missed posting today!
**
“Flood tide”
Today I watched the tide overtake the sidewalk.
Busy waters moved millions of brown vegetable streaks.
Large grass husks, cigarette butts, a foot length of twine
loop knotted, and much more with the efflux rolled in,
and crossed the sidewalk. Water pulled each island under
rippling and calmly rising, millimeter by millimeter.
Two photographers came barefoot with jeans cuffed up
and unapologetically shot a jogger, shoes wet and mucked,
sweats soaked to the knees. And bikers trailing triangle
sheets of water from their wheels, passed slow, sun spangled
in the overflood under bright gray sky. But no rain.
None of us will visit when the tide peaks again in wet January.
The water wove like snakes through amphibious ground cover.
I climbed up on the bench to see the parade reach higher,
to watch the water take more and more of the path under,
to be shown back samples of its accumulated litter.
I kept checking my escape route so I wouldn’t have to splash
back through, but remained posted on the bench until the last.
Three years ago, I drove through the flood tide in the rain,
got to my desk in time to hear that management was fine
with us staying home. Then the lights went out and the servers
began to beep in unison, there in the dark. For a few hours
I sat by the window to read and maybe write a bit. The memory goes
through me now like the water sucking back out again—that slowly.
Its a wonder how I travel
miles within seconds,
staring at that solo pic
of you, midst snow,
smiling at me i suppose
(did you know it then,
you would leave this for me)
to fill in the surroundings
with shadows of my life
always in a battle
to let go of you this last time.
Pingback: #21 Poem for Your Pocket « A 19 Planets Art Blog 2010/2011
Hey!
People up north in Tennessee
where I was born and raised
say I have a northern accent.
They ask me why that’s so
when I live further south than they.
I say, hey?
People here in Florida
say I have a southern accent thick
they strain to understand me.
They never knew Florida
has only two syllables. Not till
they heard me. Well, hey!
“time travel’s rubbish”
said H G Wells
two hundred years from now
Pingback: November PAD Challenge 23 | He know the way, the road doesn’t « You have my word.
Going Home
The underground hisses with the rush of air
as trains barrel though subterranean tunnels
lined with rails and conduits, where rats scurry
beneath the live rails and the announcer tells us
the next train is to High Barnet.
Leicester Square brings a press of people
but the station at Tottenham Court Road
is closed for renovation. We speed through,
the electric whine of the engine eclipsed
by the rattle of the wheels and the screech of brakes.
Warren Street, Euston.
I raise a smile at Mornington Crescent.
The woman opposite has an enormous mole at the side of her lip
but she’s reading about thermodynamics.
The old lady on my right compliments my hat
and I tell how how splendid she’d look in a beret
the plum colour of her scarf.
Camden, Kentish town (High Barnet branch) Tufnell Park
Archway and Highgate.
We get off here. This is where we parked the car
for a trip around the cemetery this morning.
It’s half-past ten and two hours or more before our bed.
Farewell, London.
Farewell bright lights and limelights.
EVERYTHING WE KNOW*
We’re going, and everything is there
that we need . If by chance we’re missing
something either we’ll learn to do without
it, or
find another solution. I remember when we
travelled once. We returned home safely
all the wiser with stuff
we never imagined that existed . . . The first few miles
just outside of town. Sis spent some time
at that school, working there. See the addition,
they were talking about it when I was there. Look at the cows,
over there, Brother Tom, points to field over the fence, Yeah,
Sis says, We got our fresh milk every day from that farm.
Mom laughs, Berma Shave! I thought they took those signs
off the road years ago. Takes you back some, doesn’t it, Dad
says, his hands on the wheel, head looking forward, It’s not the same
on these country roads. Used to be a small town was a small town, now
all you see is boarded up store fronts
empty restaurants. Makes you wanna cry, But Dad, I say, That;s
what they call progress.
That’s what you call progress, Son, Dad says, I’m hungry,
Lets stop in the next town over,
have a bite to eat. We park the car at the curb,
walk up the sidewalk, passing a gift shop, Once, Mom says, you’d
stop somewhere along Route 66, just anywhere, and
things were jumpin’. This isn’t Route 66, but . . .
It used to be a small town, Mom, Sis smiled back,
I’m hungry. Across the street there are two open doors. One says
Sally’s Café and the other says Community Kitchen. Dad says,
Let’s cross the street. We walk
into the Community Kitchen, a woman with an big orange apron
says, Welcome to our town. How can I help you. She
tells us to sit down. Another woman
hands us some lemonade, It’s not much, she says,
We’d be pleased if you joined us for dinner. Dad says,
There’s a restaurant next door, and . . . from what I see
I fear we might be imposing.
Not at all, not at all, the woman says,
The more the merrier. If you need a place to stay, there’s a vacant rental.
It’s furnished. You can sleep over for the night, Dad says
we were planning to go to the cabin
for the weekend. Mom looks back towards the kitchen,
at the tables, gets up to serve the soup. Dad shakes his head,
Mom’s hungry again. Sis, Junior, I guess
we’re staying here for the weekend. Get to car and . . .
bring the fixings to the kitchen. Junior, get your laptop out, too,
you never know if the kids might get bored, and . . .
A man comes up to Dad, Good that you came, he says,
We had a factory in this town
It closed down, after that, you can see for yourself.
The library was over there, the school was down the street, if
we are lucky, the fire trucks come in time, but so far
we haven’t had a fire. My two kids moved away, and
what can I tell you, we’re holding on
the best we can. What’s it like with you. Dad says,
The important thing is not
what we don’t have, but
what we do with what
we have. Don’t you agree.
Yes, the man says, Happy Thanksgiving Day.
Zev Davis
Day 23 11-23-2011
Write a traveling poem.
Folks say Hartsfeld’s backed up–the car traffic,
not the planes.
They bulked up the TSA staff,
and the lines were moving fast,
so 15 minutes got you through.
But I’m smug and snug at home,
cooking for our little foursome,
and the farthest I’ll probably travel tomorrow
is a little post TG trek up and down our street,
or maybe to the movies for a family film night.
Cinderella or Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and Me
By Richard-Merlin Atwater (C) 23 Nov., 2011
Time travel for some, others to exotic places,
Far away, down distant paths, off to the races,
But for me, today, I travel into a fairy tale dream,
To bring to fulfillment what others can not seem!
They say that “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes”,
And the “Magic of Disney” is in magic wands.
As a Baby-Boomer I remember it well:
Cinderella and Snow White cartoon movies tell–
Of fairy tales and “wishing on a star” dreams,
So to tell the truth: today my heart beams,
I finally found my “one true love”,
Obviously sent to me straight from heaven above.
All my life I’ve searched for a blue-eyed blonde:
Cinderella has been my preference to make bond
For matrimonial dance at the chandelier-ed ball,
So I searched “far and wide” to the beckon call–
To seal my fate as a royal Prince like Shrek!
But what do you guess happened to me, by the heck?
I fell in love with a black-haired girl
With downy white skin like a dove or a pearl.
She was the absolute “spittin’ image” of Snow White,
So which of the Seven Dwarfs do you think I feel like tonight?
Obviously “Happy”! I’m Grumpy no more, I feel like a Doc,
No longer Sneezy, or Dopey, not even Bashful, more like a hawk–
In the evening who is Sleepy for bed to be with his mate,
Shoo away little birds, and all forest animals of late,
The wicked old Queen as a witch, eat your own apple and drop dead!
Get out of my story Prince Charming, go back to your castle and stand on your head;
She belongs to me, this beauteous, Princess Snow White,
On Valentine’s Day we are to be married and make every thing right,
No glass case for sleeping, no Prince to come give a kiss,
The fairy tale bridal chamber belongs to me, and so does the Miss.
Yes, Miss Snow White will soon be my wife, sleeping with me–
As husband and wife we shall be as Prince and Princess, happy as can be,
She’ll give birth to seven children all in due time,
What do you think we shall name them to follow a nursery rhyme.
And so my travel into a fairy tale book to fulfill all my dreams aright
Came to a final conclusion that certainly made everything bright,
I lost Cinderella all to quick, but won Snow White fair and square,
So now I’m a Prince, not a Pauper, a King with his Queen without a care.
I became officialy engaged to marry MIss Julia Kolednik who looks exactly like Snow White.
Our wedding is set for Valentine’s Day 14 February 2012. I proposed to her on 21 Nov, 2011 and she accepted.
Our 7 children to be: ” the seven dwarfs”!!?? –hahaha
Engagement photo available by request to my email address: rmatwater@aol.com
Humbling Journeys
Flying over great bodies of water
Seen from the air, they appear
Like art canvas in varying shades:
Brush-stroked or pallet-knifed
Cobalt, Prussian blue, slate,
Pale viridian – to name a few
I feel so insignificant
At times like these – hours
Of passing nothing but water
The only things seeming as endless—
At least thus far in my travels—
Viewed from the air,
Are mountain ranges
Row on row of snow- covered
Peaks, that from 30,000 plus feet
Appear somewhat the same height
It is illusory but equally humbling
Travelling by train or car
I get the same sensation
Going across the prairies
In North America or up around
The great lakes in Canada
While that section of road and rail
Don’t really go on endlessly,
But with the twists and turns
Through the Canadian Shield
Passing through steep canyon
Walled tunnels and past
Thousands of un-named
Lakes and islands, some
That still show on no maps,
It seems at times unending
And has the propensity
To make me feel diminished
I find myself, especially
When flying, thinking often
Of brave Amelia Earhart
Flying off into the great
Unknown – radioing
To land that she and her
Co-pilot were lost but
Not that worried –
And then, they were
Never seen
nor heard from, again
The Lay Of Island Life
I’ve got a hankerin’
To throw my anchor in
Where the sea and the sky are bright blue
I’ll leave all the hustle, the rat race and bustle
It’s good riddance to Park Avenue.
It will be so serene-a
To be at a marina
Where the sea and the sky are bright blue
I’ll leave all the mess, the work and the stress
It’s good riddance to Lexington too.
How I love the palm trees
the white sand and soft breeze
that caresses the waves and the land.
No time clocks or datebooks, I’ll live in a hut
Gaze at my man’s butt and do whatever I please.
Trying to catch up with the PAD challenge…
Pamela
“Travelling Shoes, Aren’t Moving
Gypsies
“Gypsies. You’ll be gypsies,” said my mother-in-law
when she heard of her son’s new job: hired to travel
up and down the American Midwest in survey teams
measuring the middle of our continent – going south
in winter, north in summer from razor-back Arkansas
to Minnesota’s thousand and one lakes to Mississippi’s
delta land to the Red River bounding North Dakota
and flowing north instead of draining to the gulf. I
remember winter in a western Kansas town so small
you could cross your forefingers to tally main streets
where everything flew past, horizontal to the ground:
dust and tumble-weeds, rain and snow; where nothing
stuck but tenacious ants that marched in single file
along the kitchen counter tops or milled on the floor
in black mobs surrounding the baby’s bottle, fallen
from her crib. Twice we called Nebraska our home:
Nebraska City, a Missouri River town near orchards
full of apples. But further west, near Seward, began
my love affair with the Great Plains, prairie grasses
wind-driven in vast waves under star-flooded skies.
“Gypsies,” she’d said, the word making a nasty taste
in her mouth. So we became: gypsies, but I loved it.
homeless
by juanita lewison-snyder
he goes where the work takes him
i follow, days later, like an obedient dog
with food and shelter on travois behind me,
dreaming of fire and a full belly
a warm place to lay our heads
safe and private and quiet
before the snows come.
© 2011 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
I missed a post when I was playing catch-up….
My Husband Loves “The Sheltering Sky”
I want to go where the birds
talk in glyphs, where the sand
runs four hands over the black and white.
I want to tread where
green round leaves fall, settle like stones
to guide me over lines.
I want your footprints,
hard and fresh,
as footholds for my none-too-sensible
shoes.
Pamela Murray Winters
DRIVING WITH WIND
This I’m-cinched-in-tin wind,
tickling-whim wind,
filch-figs-in-ditch wind,
cliff-high wind
in dim first-light, flick-flit wild
bird wind,
rim-click nick-in-tire wind,
crisp-chill birch wind,
it’s itch, hitch-this-wind
wind, it flirts & clings,
flings, trips, sings, this fizz-hiss-
whip thrill-wind, misty-
brink wind,
bright whirligig wind,
kiting wind, night-lightning
wind, winding-whining-driving
wind, this I’m-its-kin
wind.