i keep having
the same reoccurring nightmare
where i'm driving and i need to stop
but my brakes won't work

it reminds me of when
i'm sitting with my friends
and i see all their subtle glances at each other
each time i take it just a little too far
because i always do
always

i can never
just get my brakes to work

The seat next to mine is empty.

No one is singing the songs back to me.

No one is interrupting my calculated playlist with bad old songs.

The comments on my driving that used to bother me,
I now miss.

There are no shoe marks on the dashboard,
no trace of adventure.

The over excitement about the view that used to make me roll my eyes isn't there.

I miss these silly things that I took for granted.

Time.
Wispy, sugary, gentle time.
Floating through the air.
Long afternoons in the sun,
Gentle warmth on my legs as I lie.
Time floats by like dandelion seeds
On a windless day.

Time.
Sticky, rotten, putrid time.
Dripping through my fingers.
A day in the car,
Breathing the same air you have for hours.
Time slides down my limbs like a slug
In the early hours.

Time.
Bubbly, hot, electric time.
Reaching to touch– for a second.
Final bows,
A pure high that flows through every vein.
You blink, and then it's over,
Existing solely in memory.

Time.
Sharp, tight, abrasive time.
Sitting heavy on my chest.
Yelling, quick movement.
It closes in, overwhelming, stifling.
When I finally breathe, it's much later,
Like my sanity, it's gone.

Time.
Moving, fluid, dancing time.
Existing without a thought.
It moves on, when we don't.
Day, by week, by month, by lifetime.
I observe it passing, a train out the window,
And I wave.

we're driving home.
it's raining and
car lights shine through rain-splattered windshields
like angry neon brushstrokes.

sometimes i think i can see
every single color of the rainbow
when i stare at white streetlights.
sometimes those chromatic hallucinations
make me think
of all the beauty trapped
under our skins.

water splashes under the car's tires.
the sound lulls me to drowsiness.
how long has it been, i wonder,
since i last fell asleep in a car seat
unaware and unworried.

the sky is dark.
it darkened hours ago.
i can still feel its warmth on my skin,
if i close my eyes, and think of noon.

if i breathe in,
moisture fills my throat and my lungs
and everything becomes just a little clearer.

i live for rainy days.

As she sits in the dark cold corner of her room,
She cries due to her mother’s inevitable doom,
She was so close to her,
Like two peas in a pod,
Until everything went cold,
Just two months ago a mother and her daughter had been driving to a family member’s house,
But on the way an angle caught their blouse,
A drunk driver went left of center,
Caught in the muddy weather,
The mother and daughter were in the hospital for two months,
The mother had a bruised spleen, a broken wrist, a ****** face, and cancer
The daughter had a broken jaw, and a fractured skull,
Both in a coma for a month and a half,
Choosing life and death,
The mother took her final breath,
The cancer had spread without warning,
Turning the family to the mourning,
The daughter had woken with such a fright,
She hardly saw the light,
The doctors came in and told the girl what had happened,
Now she lives in darkness and sorrow,
Until tomorrow.

A collection of ‘Love is…’ Poetry
Pumpkin


Love is wherever you are.
Love is worth more than your car.
Love is a holiday destination.
Love is a journey to the stars.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

And life was like a highway
The Soul-- a car.
The moments speeding by
Blurring together.

But how many times have you stopped
Just to gaze--
Just to slow down,
For once.

For once? --why did matter
How fast you were going,
Or how slow the horizon was growing.
For once: why drive at all?

It seemed that: drive.
All it seemed. All it is, really.
Could you leave?
Or are you stuck on this continuum?

Maybe it was the way the sun's gaze
(that day specifically)
Held the world in such
Un-timely grace.

Like nostalgia held under the lime light.
But it was gone as fast as it came,
What's left is-- well-- memory.
Couldn't you have stopped?

And now it's stuck behind your mind.
Like the black blotch
Of a crack
In your back window.

But regret is no more than rear-view mirrors
And and empty tank.
Wouldn't the sunset be so much better
If you weren't headed towards it?

I mean--

How many times did you escape,
Just to walk-- heck,
To even measure how long
The pavement lines were?

Sometimes the best thoughts we have
Are just backtracking to find gas.
But that's regress...
Isn't it?

But maybe a new body on an old frame
Doesn't cut it.
You're worth less if you have miles.
Yet without miles, you lack the rustic wisdom.

--whatif

What if death's the only destination.
Then why even bother
With where you're going?
If the sunset fades--

Look,

You could have all the moments
Pass your window
Or
You could simply gaze.

Chevrolet


Imagine life is a journey in a car, without a map or a satnav.
You can only go forward, there is no turning back.
You only know where you are going to.
Your destination is ‘love’ and it has to be ‘true’.


You may burst your tired heart and sometimes run out of gas,
But time heals all the damage and you always find your way back,
To the free love freeway; my only way.
No shortcuts taken, I must experience all the bad days
And embrace all of the good, before I reach my final stop.
Because when my heart has been fixed
And I reach my journey’s end…
I will hopefully no longer have to worry,
About the radiator getting too hot.


She will cool me down and get my engine running.
Could this be love?  I constantly imagine,
But as yet I have not reached my place of peace,
But there are many beautiful signs I am yet to see.


Occasionally I find a place where I can rest.
A place to pull over, a place I have seen inside my head.
You see the signs, as you approach,
‘Natural beauty spot ahead’
(I thought you should know.)


So you decide to stop and take a look.
Maybe, there is a bench to sit on
And maybe there is a place to write your books,
As you watch the fading sun.


In front of you there is quite a view.
The lakes and the trees,
The woman sat on the dock fishing;
The one who reminds you of you.
So you go over to say hello.
Sometimes the two of you have a conversation.
Sometimes you can only remain a ghost;
Sometimes they never get to know.


As the sun turns to red in search of its bed,
You say your goodbyes and set off in your car.
Sometimes you stroll along…
Sometimes life flies by like a shooting star.


Sometimes you drive into a town and decide to stop for a while.
Sometimes you arrive at a pretty city,
Where all you do is constantly smile.
This place may even be called ‘love’.
You could live there for many a moon;
But eventually the time comes, to leave love behind,
But you always leave a piece of you too.


So you go and seek counsel from a mechanic.
She says travel the world!
Go on an adventure, speak Spanish…

But eventually you say that is enough touring for me.
I need to head over to true love,
I don’t want to be late for my marriage.


So your carriage takes you to the ball.
You pull up in front of two gigantic doors
And standing at the end of the hall,
Past rows of friends and family;
There she stands in white, your motorbike bride,
The one you have been searching for.


As you approach with nervous footsteps,
Your journey behind you, your future ahead,
You check your tie, slick back your hair with a comb
And try to look your best; you are heading home.


Your car and your heart have had their ups and downs;
It may be a little scratched and dented now;
But all she can see is a brand new Chevy.
So she climbs into your heart and the passenger seat.
The two of you set off along a new route together.
Homeward bound…

New dreams to follow…
Foot to the ground!

(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

If we sped one night in your motor
in ghostly sleeped streets.
Onto a highway, overtaking nightshift drivers.
Their anger would only echoe and
bounce of your back screen window.

Street lights would fade
into roads which passed their trails.
And your senses would dissolve into the music as we rode.
Your fumes polluted the air so much that night,
but I left you forgiven
because it was your last.

The last image in my iris of you flashed,
as my skin was scarcely stabbed.
Your cigar was put out by the force
before your lips could ever taste it again.
It’s last fire was gushed out
by my bottled tears which spilled on the surface.

Then I seen you impaled
your heart oozed out onto the steering wheel,
that had steered us to the end.
Your fingers were the surf that melted into the ocean.
As were your eyes,
enclosed in a forbidden sleep to ensure that
you never awoke and remembered.

But each night I wade with the birds
who sing at the cars looting by
and I inhale their fumes, crying because
they still have miles left unlike you did that night,
when we sped
and you stopped.