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Kaede  Apr 13
Hitched Hearts
Kaede Apr 13
Thought you found home when you finally anchored your heart to his, but you only found wilderness inside an empty forest lost long time ago.

I met a man while I am moving on from my past. He was moving on also from his own little heartbreak. Whenever I am with him, I taught myself to never love a man's soul while his heart is aching for someone else's. But he taught me the other way, obliviously.

The ricochet comes. He can't love me back when he wants to. He can't take risks the way I do. He can't choose me when the universe give us the chance.

The ricochet hits me and I am supposed to be dead. But no, I was hit but was never putted into death. I was only shattered into pieces.

My little hopes and biggest fears will chase me to dreams and I have no escape. Nightmares will come every sleep and anxiety will attack me every waking up.

I will stare blankly in a dead air that used to give life to my existence before.

I am shredding tears for no certain reason and my heart is pulled down into the bottom of the sea.

I am loss. I am not found. If hope doesn't exist, then there is no chance I will be found deep down here.

I never had a heart, but when I found this empty long lost forest, when I took the risk when he can't, when I love him despite all his insecurities and incertitude, when I choose him when the universe gave me dozens of choices, I don't have a choice but to have one. For him and only for him.

Boy, I only have one heart but it is still hitched to yours and I don't have any plans to unhitch it.
I made this one when I joined the Feature Writing workshop of the trainees few weeks ago. I am not good in Feature Writing and it is really obvious base on what you have read above. HITCHED HEARTS is for people who choose to stay even if the person they hitched their hearts into already left. Aweee keleg tenge ke pele ehhhh
KiraLili Jul 2016
Fly rod the only passenger
Hot asphalt ripples
" Fill er up the boy asks"
I nod tapping the wheel
Once past the last lights
The road winds and narrows
Both windows down
Pavement turns to dirt
The streams bulge from last nights rain
High country down time begins
One wrist on the wheel
Left arm hitched out the side
With a full tank of gas
There's only one question
Where to stop
Summer fly fishing
Steve  Jul 2018
Thirty Five Years
Steve Jul 2018
Thirty Five Years
Not just alive and on the planet
But hooked and hitched
To my pal Janet
Or Mary as She’s often known
The wind from the east
Where wild oats were sown

Thirty Five Years
From lad to dad
Mostly good, sometimes bad
And orphaned along the way
Sad to say
But while there’s Jean
There’ll always be a card

Thirty Five Years
The wrinkles spread
And the road back’s longer
Than the road ahead
Thinking of it makes me smile
But the future’s real
Fate still spins the wheel

Thirty five years
Since that toast was said
And we both kissed
And our vows were read
Nerves on show,
“On behalf of my wife and I..”
Thanks to you all for dropping by.
On the occasion of. Jean is my amazing mother in law.
zoie marie lynn Jan 2018
"the title says it all,"
she says, breaking the fourth wall.
"i was with a guy,
i know i know, so cliche,
but he really took my breath away."
the audience laughs,
she continued on,
"he told me all these enhancing things,
and at first i didn't know what to think.
the first date was a disaster,
i spilt wine all over my dress,
and the second went a little better,
but the third one was the best."
the audience anticipated the rest,
"on the 29th of September,
he got sick,"
her breath hitched,
"he told me not to worry,
as he layed in that hospital bed,
hooked up to so many tubes,
he'd say anything to get these thoughts out of my head.
he told me he knew all along,
that he had one month left to live,
i broke to a million pieces,
'but it was so worth it,'
he said lovingly as he coughed his last cough.
i thought of nothing else but the way he looked
hooked up like some middle school kid's science project,
and now here i am,
at this amazing poetry slam,
telling you all my story,
because it could be days, weeks, or even years until you discover your forever,
but for me,
mine was simply a month to remember."
babe, stay
Stephen E Yocum Oct 2014
Fourteen years old and thinking I was older.
'Assistant Maintenance Man' at a Public School
Summer Camp. Billy Deitz had just graduated
High School, I thought him the coolest guy
I knew. The first week was ended, the little
kids gone home, a new batch in two days time.

We did our work, cleaned and swept, sweated
in the summer sun. Took the old surplus Jeep
over to the creek and plunged ourselves in.
Deitz had some beer in an Ice chest, I drank
one, my first ever. We shot his 22 for a while
and ate PBJs in the shade. Then we heard it.

A train horn in the mountains is a haunting
call. It does not seem to belong there among
evergreen trees and massive granite boulders.
We drove the hell out of the Jeep and found
our way to the down grade tracks. And there
she was maybe 50 cars long, snaking her way
from the summit of the Sierras out of California
into Nevada. Through the Pass over a hairpin
filled course hugging the skirts of the rock face
mountains, slowly rolling her massive load
pushing her four engines, breaks a screeching
in protest. "Click Clack, Click Clack", her steel
wheels clanging upon the rails, a rhythm like
her train heart beating.

Deitz grabbed his coat and tied it round his waist,
looped a canteen over his head, "Lets go kid!"
I did what he said, and then we were running
along beside the box cars, more a trot than a run,
"Do what I do!" Deitz yelled over his shoulder.
A flat car with some machinery approached and
He grabbed on to it and pulled himself aboard,
I copied his moves and he helped pull me up
and then there we stood on the deck of that
moving, mountain ship, with her grunting and
shaking under our feet. We could feel all her
massive weight and power vibrating up through
that wooden plank deck of the flat bed car,
entering our legs and spines. . . It was thrilling!

I had not had time to think all this through,
"Now what?" I asked some what perplexed
"Reno Kid." Deitz yelled with a grin.  

We climbed atop a Box Car, our ship crawled
out of the upper pass and we stared down
upon Donner Lake far below. Looking behind
and ahead it was hard to understand how they
had cut that track out of solid rock and how it
maintained it's frail finger tip grip on the sheer
mountain side.

We ducked nearly flat going through the snow
tunnels, the clearance was tight and it seemed
that a guy could lose his head. The diesel thick
air made us cover mouth and nose with our shirts.
Two tunnels in we noticed our faces getting
smoke blackened. We laughed at the joke.
Doing black face on a boxcar in a tunnel of wood.
Two city kids playing Hobo.

We reached the lower valley, passed the place
where the Donner Party met their grisly end.

Truckee was next and the highway grew close.
We got back down onto the flat car and hold
up by the machine cargo, more or less out of sight.

I thought of all the down on their luck men that
had ridden those rails, not on a some lark. That
whole Grapes Of Wrath, Woody Guthrie period
of no joke, for real ****. Pushed by poverty and hope.

I must admit at that moment, I felt more alive than
at any other time in my life. I felt grown up, like a man.
Until my belly began to rumble, the speed increased
and the wind began to chill. The Click Clacks of the
wheels quickened and grew irritatingly redundant.
The loud wailing of the engine horn no longer exciting.
Now only hurt my ears.

It was dark by the time we hit Reno, we jumped off
before the train yard. Walked into town with its
bright lights calling the casino gamers to unholy service
and nightly prayer. Proceeded over by hard-bitten
dealers in communal black, with cigarettes dangling
from their unsmiling lips, possessing the empty
dead eyes of the badly used up and down-trodden.
Through the ***** windows, the people there seemed
to possess no joy in their sluggish endeavors.
Both players and dealers all losers, merely Automatons
of those games of chance.

Reno was still rough-hewn in those days, a hard
scrabble place full of cigarette smoke, ******,
card tables, slot machines and not much else.
It seemed to reek of lonely desperation.

Having seen our soot ***** faces in the
window reflection, we washed up some
in the cold river that runs through town.

We walked around a bit, ate some hot dogs,
Downed a Doctor Pepper.
"Now what Deitz?"
"**** I don't know kid,
first time I ever did anything like this."

"What?" My world collapsed right then,
I thought he was much more than
he turned out to be. Maybe everyone is.
I even started to get a little scared.
No money, no place to stay and apparently,
like most of the denizens there, **** out ah'
luck. I'd never felt that way before, from
mountain high to valley low in two hours.
All that excitement turned to Dread.

We hitched a ride with a long haired
guy of questionable gender,
who kept staring at me in the rearview mirror.
West, to a Truck Stop on the edge of town.
Found a trucker willing to give us a lift back
up to the summit.
Jumped in and were happy to find,
that his cab heater worked just fine.

Badly judged our get out spot and searched
and stumbled around in the shadowy dark,
dim moonlight looking for that **** jeep,
all that friggin' night.

When the guy that ran the camp returned
and found us sleeping at half past two,
in the afternoon, to say the least,
He was not amused.

Need I say, I felt much older that day
and a little wiser too.
I know this is too long, more a short story than
a poem. A memory stirred up by a write of a HP
friend W L Winter about riding a box car. Little
stories recalled and shared. Too long to read,
I'll understand, I wrote it for me and my kids.
Jack Chicago Mar 2015
i was there with the locked up free
they stared straight through the bars at me
the gate was open
no one had to stay
they spoke of church in exchange for food
lights out with 50 smelly-*** bad moods
i saw it superseded rude
so, i walked down and ate the trash
i had no church
no shame
no cash
the garlic bread was free
the sweet rolls weren't for me
so, i walked back down to the dead-soul church
to find a name i could besmirch
with lust, debauch, an empty purse
she told me she had her own room and bath
we tried to pull one on the *****
said that we were legal hitched
she asked for proof and I.D.
we didn't have a thing
that ended our sad little fling
goody gumdrops ain't gonna get my ring
grab my gear as i walk i sing
i know the words to everything
if i happen to forget
i'll make up better ones you'll bet
raised my sign and i raised my thumb
hoped a car was gonna come
sat there in the Yakima heat
sign propped up next to my feet
a nice redneck stopped and said
"have a seat"
he was welfare office bound
i was just a broke road-hound
waited for him in the shade
told him jokes for smokes
he made a good trade
got dropped off at an angry sunning truck-stop
flew my sign
one eye out for cops
a white guy in a small red car
pulled up and said
"i'll go that far"
soon we broke down on the road
i was sure my luck would soon implode
instead we put our heads on think
we woulda fixed the kitchen sink
but waters last to beer when i drink
we got some bolts and ******* 'em on
before we knew it we were gone
he got a smile
i got this song
then we hit Seattle like a ****
nothins' right if ya don't know wrong
NOTHINS' RIGHT IF YA DON'T KNOW WRONG
This is a true story. About a road trip. I ended up at a rescue mission in the middle of nowhere. Hence the "church in exchange for food", etc. It was an eventful trip. This is just a ease of it.
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