V Anne 7d

I understand
The overrated teenage urge
To scream out of a sunroof

While racing down an empty highway.

Sometimes your heart feels
So heavy
You wish you could take flight.

Release it all
With the wind.

KKM Mar 28

-iced coffees and knife tattoos couldn't justify the broken glass glinting off your back, so water down the orange sadness in your grey eyes and start pulling apart the summer nights' convenient secrets
- the gas station 6 minutes from home can teach you a thing or two about energy and mileage but no matter how far you go, the moon will always being its stars along to remind you of brand new ideas and bright eyes; don't blink or you'll miss a gunning thought
- with the loose thread on your hat's embroidery, stitch together 24 dandelions and swallow the ink that runs from the moments that you put you on a golden high; speeding down the highway on the road to a fresh, green burst of adrenaline on the coast is one that turned into silver
- your walk to the white laundromat down the street required a soft cold slurpee that would quench more than just your summer vibe but you picked up a medium iced hazelnut coffee instead and called it 'starting over' so your best friend would be proud of the way you handle new beginnings and stale cookies

Amanda Kay Hill Jan 26

I want to dive on the
All night long and not
Look back I just want to go
So fast that I can feel the
Wind in my hair and
Just think about stuff
I have a lot on my mind
I lost my mind since the
Day my boyfriend passed
Away I just some time what
To kill myself and not go
On with life anymore
I just can not to it anymore
I miss my love so much
The pain is burning inside
I think about you everyday
© Amanda Kay Hill

McDonald tsiie Dec 2016

Let's go out a couple of nights
One feels up whilst the other bites
Let's do what feels right
Lets not fight

Lets not take drugs and fake hugs
Lets passionately get lost in each others arms
I'm waiting on the back of the hill
Staring at the highway trying to stand still

Are you patient? Oh please
Are you patient? Are you free?
Can you see? How it's obscene?

Come on now make a scene
Come tomorrow I'm coming clean
Cross my heart and hope to die
And wonder next who'll lie

I was counting on deceit of the day
To create a proper feeling of
What I was going to say
But I would make false re-sort
That said I never trusted strangers
And my crushes weren't short

So lets let love play it's part
Before we're apart lets start

Sean Scribbles Dec 2016

It is raining, you must be crying.
I left you on the dark side of a broken highway.
Just outside of the intersection of time and change.
You did proclaim that you were afraid that I wouldn't stay.
That I wouldn't live to see the light of the following day.

And I didn't.
You were right.

I got in my car and drove away.
But not because I wanted to.
But because I didn't feel at home enough to stay.
How could I possibly find our way, when you were without a map everyday?
Once alive and bright like the dashboard light.
I faded away, into the dark of this good night.

Yet you never saw the sadness which I kept when I did drive away.

Thanks for reading. I don't write fiction.
Harry Randle-Marsh Nov 2016

                                                Enough is not enough
                                                     I want too much.

                                                      “Excuse me sir
                                           you haven’t paid too much.
                                                  I gave you too much
                                               and you ate everything.
                                        I need to throw away something
                                                 and the bin’s spilling."

"I drove too many footsteps
past too many throwaways
too many pylons
water towers
possum-eaten polystyrene cups
camel boxes
and walkers
with socks as hard as coffins.”

                                             Enough is not enough
                                                  I want too much.

Thoughts on the road in America.
ashes Oct 2016

it's been forty nine days
forty nine goddamned days and he still hasn't
even picked up his phone to tell me
that he was at the bottom of the lake
somewhere and that i needed to worry
because his car's on fire

he saw me bleed and didn't even move
a finger, i cried and told him that
he made me feel like a thousand suns were
under my feet and the weight of the
world was on my ankles, he wants me to
hurt to point where i collapse

forty nine days and i (i should) be feeling better
sitting, shotgun while we drove down the
highway, the light in my throat and the wind
moving through my finger tips
your gun in my hands and your heart
in my shoe, i ran down the hills and to the lake;

and i swear i felt the heat of hell

The Lonely Bard Oct 2016

I had been bending over,
I used to do that for her.
Little did she ever hear,
Seldom she treasured ever.

Maybe I just can't get enough,
Never she went astray, though.
Determinedly I wasn't tough,
She managed to spoil the dough.

Perhaps life would someday shine,
Someone might come my way.
And then she'll be mine,
On this life's highway.

HP Poem #1169
©Atul Kaushal
Alex Hoffman Sep 2016

Droplets of sweat flattened on our foreheads under the weight of a mid-August sun—flattened into ovals of sticky sodium, catching specks of stray dirt swept into the air from the passing semi’s and transport trucks, whipping the wind into torrents of chalky highway dust.

Pressed high against the skies curved plain, we used our thumbs to browse the passing cars like pages of an anthology enclosed by a narrow spine of asphalt.

But when one pulled onto the shoulder and we approached the passenger side window, we too were thrust with the expectation and appeal of a library—mutually eager in the labour of conversation for the currency of experience.

For a moment, as the prairie receded in the side mirrors, our car became the baseline of a frantic cardiogram, crowded by the landscape of rising granite walls and low-hanging canyons, and the space between our separate lives closed like parallel lines drawn by gravity to a magnetic core.

We pushed our destination west, as far as it would go, safe on the heels of expectation. In motion the passing towns crackled like neurotransmitters firing signals over axons of black asphalt. But each time the car slowed to release us, one more they faded into a rancid stasis, that, once more, we aimed only to depart.

After a summer hitchhiking across Canada.
Liz Balise Sep 2016

Route 84 would not lend me
the light of a star last night
Radio blazing at 75 mph
nonsense noise to chew gum by
Crackling political commentary
Static of distance and thick clouds
Invisible mountains blocking
Memories seeping through the cracks
coating the music in a film
I rub my eyes
watch myself punch alert buttons
But it’s the angels’ jukebox tonight

Roll down the window
Watch the heat escape

Summer again

I am building a castle of ancient stones
pulverized by relentless tides
Dragged across maps by mastodons
and mammoth glaciers
The scouring hiss
the ocean sighs
Time has lulled these smoothly
rolling them in the softest hands of sand
and gels of life’s comings and goings
tenderly tumbling
in the millionth moonrise—
Time deposits them here
wet and glistening

For the girl with the plaid two-piece to gather
Shoulders sun-burnt barely say
one week only,
one week of the fifty two
“It’s the time of the season…”
and daddies on the beach are watching….

She has chosen yet another stone
And the castle continues—
in oblivion to all but her legend…

     The queen will be safe here
     from the rabble
     The disgraced Tristan will surely seek her
     Among these lofty cliffs
     Between the raging circuit of the tide
     Here winds forbid the vengeful mob
     Here lovers learn
     the debt of love’s bad timing
     “Drink ye all of it!”
     --the potion that assigns our sorrow….
     She will not sleep—
     while I chew this gum--  GUM?

Roll down the window!

Angels escape with the heat
Waking me with the brush of their wings

As that eighteen-wheeler hugs my flank
And leans on the horn
Lights flashing
Rude rumbling under right tires
Tantrum of snow
In the draft of mass and velocity

…and the angels?
They’ve chosen another good one!
They must’ve liked the 80’s
Their wings slapping the windshield madly  
Their hands steady the wheel

As a fourteen-year old, I picked up a book to read at the beach about the legend of the lovers, Tristan and Iseult.  I was so captivated by their story that it ruled my imagination that summer.  

Anyway, I still think of it when I think of the ocean-- as I did on this cold dark occasion when I should have pulled off somewhere for a coffee, but I was trying to beat the snow storm home.
Route 84, also known as Dead Bambi Highway, has a desolate, treacherous section going over the mountains between NY and Pennsylvania.  Didn't have much option for music at the time, so I leaned heavily on the radio pushing the search button to find anything bearable-- not too much static.
Song reference in this: "Time of the Season" by the Zombies-- all time favorite beach song that happened to be on the radio that night.

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