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Jenny Gordon Oct 27
...what half freaked me out was, having been mulling the first line, the thing itself overtook me like it was some wrestling match.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCMXLII)


Fog manifests itself in headlights, hale
White haunting lo, the black night til, what hence?
How mists oertake aught trying for passage, dense
Naught blotting out the distance like no bail
Exists, until I canna help, nor fail
To thus reduce speed as "password?!" thence
Seems now demanded, so I pray, defense
But Thee alone, oh LORD, Whom shall avail.
If fear was what they wanted, I'd as t'were
A start of it, recalling folk complaining too
Oer its keen essence blocking travel, poor
As mulling how I cherished it, t'would do
Me in now, in a trice, if only. Stir
Vague mem'ries of its courtship like, what's true?

27Oct24a
Forced to find fodder and pull off writing one fresh sonnet daily taught me to search for inspiration at all times, composing on the go, whether or not I could scribble anything down at the twinkling moment. This began while driving I-55 southbound after 5am.
Geof Spavins Sep 22
Once upon a time, on a road so long,
I set out a journey, singing my song.
With snacks in the seat and a map in my hand,
I felt like a king, ruler of this land.

The GPS lady, with her calm, soothing voice,
Said, “Turn left ahead,” as if I had a choice.
But I missed the turn, and she sighed with a tone,
“Recalculating route,” in a voice like a drone.

The miles stretched on, the road never ends
With no end in sight, just around the next bend.
I passed by cows, and fields of green,
And wondered if I’d ever be seen.

The fuel gauge dipped, the light turned red,
I needed a station, or I’d be dead.
I found a place, with a quirky name,
“Last Chance refuel,” it was part of the game.

The restroom key was a sight to behold,
Attached to a hubcap, rusty and old.
I did my business, and I grabbed a snack,
I hit the road, never looking back.

The radio played the same old song,
About a truck and a dog, it went on too long.
I switched to a station with talk and news,
But the host’s voice gave me the Exocet blues.

The sun beat down, the AC broke,
I rolled down the window, and started to choke.
On dust and bugs, and the smell of hay,
I longed for a shower, at the end of the day.

A detour sign appeared out of the blue,
“Road closed ahead,” what was I to do?
I followed the signs, through towns so small,
With names like “Puddle” and “Waterfall.”

I stopped for lunch at a pub so quaint,
With pies so sweet, they would make you faint.
The waitress smiled, with a knowing glance,
“Long journey, huh? Just take a chance.”

I ordered a burger, with fries on the side,
And a milkshake thick, for completing the ride.
Back on the road, with a full belly,
I felt like a hero, in my own telly.

The hours passed, the sun sank so low,
The stars came out, with a gentle glow.
I sang to myself, to stay awake,
And dreamed of the bed, I’d soon partake.

Finally, I saw the sign, “Welcome to Town,”
I cheered aloud, no longer a clown.
I parked the car, with a sigh of relief,
And thanked my God, for the journey so brief.

So if you ever find yourself on a drive,
Remember this tale, and you will survive.
With snacks and tunes, and a sense of fun,
A long journey’s end, is a victory won.
a drive in the summer inspired this one
blank Sep 22
i get lost on purpose
    drive into the mountains like
    maybe i’m waiting for a cliff

   like maybe route 44 will go off the grid
    unmap itself
from my neurons and from google both

i brake disgusted
    reminded of the guy who took the hairpin too fast
    and didn’t even make a dent in the ridge
reminded how it looms so large with every rev
    till all i see is rock
   , road
   , and impossibly the flightiest glimpse of

   vanishing point

so distant from the guy who escaped the sky

i pull over next to smoking trucks and their smoking drivers
silhouetted against a valley so vast it may as well be nothing
    a pipedream projected somewhere
    beyond
     some etching from the silurian period
    that i won’t understand (not even when i’m older)

i’m sorry i’m late

i get lost on purpose
    but i still repeat myself:
the second the county signs change color
    i’m shivering at the lookout
    i'm swinging around and glancing nervously at the sun
i'm slamming my brakes at the hairpin
    neither earth nor air nor new
   just home.

sorry i’m late
but i’m here.
    i parked at the end of the driveway
   like always.
--written 2/22/23--
Nyx Sep 19
I run my fingers through my hair to tame it
The wind is a little rough but I don't mind
With my windows down, a chill isn't going to stop me
from enjoying this sky,
from singing this song.

Or maybe I'll keep quiet instead,
soak it all in.

I could fly, you know
float through the roof
kiss the blue, fade to orange
I bet it feels soft
texture of a velvet petal.

I'll rub it between my fingers,
Then watch it sail away.
I wrote this after driving home and watching the sunset. Constructive criticism is welcome!
Jia En Sep 11
It seems not all cars
Have a place to park
At night, when it’s dark
And everyone’s home is far
From the workplace;
Not everyone has a space
To rest
After being put to the test
Wherever we spent the day.
I’m still looking for my way
To my lot,
Where I can put my thoughts
Aside
And take
A break
Driving on this ride.
i need a break from driving tho i havent ever touched a steering wheel
Nan T Sep 5
two cars depart
a path we know
like the back
of our hands

a beginning expected
no hint of
what was to come

the threshold
of familiarity
suddenly breached

the look of confusion
I feel echoes on his face
as I drive by

two cars separate
one turns
the other straight

fog fills my brain
overflowing
into the world
around me

my thoughts
flood with indecision

forward or back
known or unknown
both shrouded

an eternity passes
I turn around
head back to
where I came from

the vanished threshold
more fog in its place

I follow the confused face
an inkling of a memory

a single building emerges
a beacon of light

beyond the beacon
a choice to be made
almost but not quite

I spy an empty lot
I must do what I dread

I place the call
I try to explain

my journey continues
two cars reunite

a little less hazy
a little less confused
a lot more concerned

the beginning
of the end
of my driving
For a woman I am a decent driver

Enough to hold wheel
You once told me

Argument admissable

That mastery majority of female species lacks

Like testosterone and equality

I am evidence that there is an exception to every rule
I hate when people stereotype women as bad drivers but then I see so many ****** drivers behind the wheel who end up being female and I shake my head and sigh because the clique is correct and the majority of women reinforce that idea... Tsk tsk...
STOP MAKING THE REST OF US GIRLS LOOK BAD!!!!!
Carlo C Gomez Apr 24
It must be dark
out here in the cold penumbra,
where mile after mile
no one smiles,

dots and loops,
dots and loops,
a kind of blissful nullity,
beautiful and pointless,

wearing at the edges
it almost stings,
seclusion unraveling
at the underground in us all,

aubade aberrations abound,
challenging the orthodoxy
of the troublesome
morning road,

but should this near-life experience
hydroplane toward
another mineshaft, it helps to know
less is less, not more.
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