Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Juhlhaus Apr 8
The highway changes when you travel it
At different times,
In different seasons,
Weathers, road conditions, or decades.
The places you pass and your final destination
Will change entirely from year to year
Or day to night.
The highway will tell you totally different things,
The signs change from year to year
And day to night.

The sky goes dark, the lights come on,
Some letters are lost, and new meaning found.
A roadside motel becomes simply a "mote,"
There is vacancy where before
There was nothing at all,
Just an abandoned fruit stand, which by twilight
Becomes a small house—
The siding might be yellow or brown—
With dark curtains and neon signs
Proffering readings, psychic insights, an open palm.

The other night, I came to the end of the highway.
I would have crashed right through the barrier
But God or my survival instinct intervened,
And my journey continued
On a different highway altogether.
Norman Crane Feb 3
I am the empty space between the highways,
Abandoned strip of indirection,
Subsisting on passers-by's throw-away
food and emotions / Civic midsection /
I am a buffer / I lead nowhere and
no roads leads to me / I am the empty
nest of a bird long flown to the wetlands /
I am everyone's, cared for by the city,
I am where the bodies are buried
sometimes / I am where teenagers get high,
The lake of grass from which Charon ferries
you and your people to the other side,
I am where tall grasses sway at midnight,
Snowplowsand. Cars pass. Hourglass headlights.
Bhill Nov 2020
the feelings that exist don't seem real
suddenly relief is beginning to rise up
change may be waiting on the other side of the twisted highway
on the other side....
ON THE OTHER SIDE....

Brian Hill - 2020 # 301

Thatched roof gazebo, ocean air
The plastic of the chair
Tanned, beige to a tad bit brown
The sunning shows wear, but no tear

The view of the sea
From the highway
Foaming, white lather cream
A dreamer’s dream, within

The canoe, rightly placed
The blue of it juxtaposed
To the green of sea and the trees
A journey to begin
Pockets Aug 2020
Everyday is a highway
Every hour a missed exit
Life is just a truck stop
Till you make up your mind on the destination
K E Cummins Jul 2020
Calm sleep day
Urban brick
Birdsong, windy leaves

Inexplicable bagpipes

Lift soul brave
Raw harsh demand
Rise, rise and stand
This is life and beauty

Silence
Wind
Leaves

Motorbike engine roar
Every day, a bagpiper stands outside our neighborhood Covid Testing Centre and plays for the people waiting in line. I reckoned this old poem was short, sweet, and perfect for Canada Day 2020.
Zack Ripley Jun 2020
I'm going to take all of my scars
And build a highway to the stars.
I'll learn how to love myself
And stop living like an elf
Stuck on a shelf.
It will be the hardest journey
Of my life, no doubt.
But in the end, I'll find something
Worth writing about.
In the distance
On the highways
I hear the trucks
Silently unmask
Everyday challenges

Socially distant
Carrier of loads
For smooth
Functionality
Silent
Driving force
Early morning observations
Enigmatic Apr 2020
Her trust in you is as good as an empty tank headed south
She won't use the rearview mirror headed far from you
What she leaves behind remains no concern to her burnt out heart
Eyes on the first exit out of here
The highway is her only vision, burying your bones
This is her farewell
Next page