#windshield
My windshield records the suicides
something my wipers can't overcome
mile upon mile on wet or dry roads
they collide and in someway, succumb
The radio plays my song lists
as I'm counting them, one by one
large and small, they answer the call
my windshield acts like the gun
It doesn't matter the tune
the beat or the sound or reprise
I wonder if it's false or it's true
was it happy, sad, or surprised?
Yes it's the end of a life
a bug that's last act is now gone
*** passing through it's brain
man, that's nasty
and wrong
Jun 12, 2020
Jun 12, 2020 at 6:36 PM UTC
a bug flew into my windshield yesterday
and i wanted to scream
because it resembled you
but i see you everywhere
in the flowers in the trees in the breeze
in my dreams
all the tiny insects look like you
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 1:49 AM UTC
For my 2016 writing project, I’ve decided to write a single line of poetry every day for an entire year. Below, is June’s poem. Enjoy!
A crack runs through the windshield.
This is how life goes.
Perhaps, a metaphor for something bigger.
We move down the road;
Drinking in the scenery like quiet passengers.
Our view is obstructed though.
A crack runs through the windshield.
A tear cuts across me too.
Perhaps, neither shall be repaired.
Travel provides life lessons.
These vistas seen at 70 MPH matter.
Who is sitting next to you matters more.
A crack runs through the windshield.
No break found in the rearview;
Future and past boldly symbolic.
I grab his hand.
In the safety of this car, there is no one to judge.
Our love is left alone.
A crack runs through the windshield.
I don’t belong to this fate.
This wasn’t meant to be my life.
The highway won’t claim me.
It will set me free.
Unbound, hovering over yellow stripes.
A crack runs through the windshield.
We are defined by the optical illusion.
Things could be worse.
We are finally free.
He will forever be mine.
Cracks can be repaired.
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
Windshield wipers
slappin' time
Grandpa drivin'
Grandma singin'...
Goin' home from my
weekly Wednesday visit
after my mama died...
only allowed
one day a week
with Grandma
my mama's mama...
Always a stop
at the store
for one more
Golden book
and a roll of Lifesavers
on the way home...
and I remember
my tears
going back to a place
that did not feel
like home
and Grandma singin'
"You are my sunshine
my only sunshine".
My tears are fallin'
now
with the memory
of her voice
and the sight and sound
of the rain...
Grandpa drivin'
and Grandma singin'....
and those windshield wipers
they were slappin' time...
cj 2016
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 8:58 PM UTC