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 Oct 2014 Bruised Orange
Sjr1000
Midnight on I 80
passing by Truckee
heading East
towards the lights of old Reno.
The snow starts blowing
around Floristan,
Sierra Nevada
winter
following me
all the way down.
I'm looking for a big truck
to
get behind.

Riding on the crying road
every
Sunday night.

Wondering
if I am creating
gratitude or regrets
for
my future self's past.

What am I doing?

I left you on a January night
chasing love
in a blue moon light.
Stuck between desire
and
staying home.
I don't know what's true
what's true with me
what's true with you.

I'm stuck behind this wheel
snowy anxiety
ringing on through,
what am I doing?
what are you doing?

Creating
gratitude or regrets
for
your future self.
Will the adjustment bureau
come on through?
Or
will
I like you
make it all up as I go along
with the window steaming up,
Art Bell on the radio
Coast to Coast
the sounds of ghosts.

Will I hate myself
for
being my self
or
look back with eyes
sparkling with gratitude
and
the wonder of who I was
I doubt it,
don't you?

Now as I write this poem
with my life
together and asunder
will I look
back with gratitude
or regret?

As I hit Fourth Street
the clouds have parted
stars are shining through,
I'm no longer crying
the crying road is done.
I still do not know what I have begun.
She tries to put that favorite poem of her's to sleep
it wasn't easy as it spoke of pain, made her weep,
kept on talking about losses, promises not kept,
fighting losing wars, strifes and  getting  lost.

She waited for the night, fully covered in black tresses
the ample woman, compassionate, who gently would caress
in night's presence and  deft manoeuvres all weeping stops.

She sighs, no more poems resurrecting the reign of pain, she hopes
forgets what makes her nightly haunt this place, that she is a ghost
Some say Ghosts sing..could be a poem that once was favourite
Quite a child
she makes me one
mind windward wild
flies gazelle run!*

On the shore
she’s something more
than picking pearl

opens door
once more
she’s a little girl!

She picks seashells
of sea she smells
she looks alien

free she sails
in her spell
i’m child again!

On the sea
wild carefree
she paints me joy

make hills on sands
small grow my hands
i’m again a boy!
Would you still love me:
If the sun prevents its light
And the moon its glow at night,
That all at once becomes gloomy?

Would you still love me:
If all things awry go
And nothing at all to show,
But a good token of misery?

Would you still love me:
If my arrow cannot kiss
Thy waiting bow's release,
To have a bout of ecstasy?

Would you still love me:
If medical reports say "cancer "
That has no surgical answer,
Or another form of infirmity?

Or would you only love me:
If my life wields a touch of Midas
With the revelry of Las Vegas--
All sublime, all sweet, all rosy?
Offer your words
At the altar of poetry
See the words blossom
Into fragrant flowers
Aroma of the soul
In the poems
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