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KiraLili Sep 2015
You pass them all time
They criss cross the country
Down county lines and logging roads
There are more miles of them then highways
Country songs make sense on these paths
You slow down and see more , you start to feel
Older things and quiet places
Narrow and winding , dusty and bumpy
Good places to reflect and ponder
Once you stop all you hear is the engine cooling
Tailgate time with a cold beer and a smoke
All you hear is the ting of metal cooling
And your thoughts , roads always go somewhere....
Saskatchewan at sunset , Hamlet of Vawn
Ashleigh Black Aug 2014
The roads, they sway
and curve like
the veins that
run up my arms
fueling the life
inside me
like the roads that
live forever
through the night
until daybreak
until they crumble
and decay
like the skin that
protects my
long lasting veins
but they'll always
leave behind
the memory of
how both lived
the fiercest lives.
Spenser Bennett Feb 2016
There's an impossibility standing adjacent to the nearest star bound body
It waves and beckons with a sincere familiarity so unnaturally
I am the end of the undulating tunneled vision
I am become a silhouette of a dead city caught in the decaying story bones fiction

We are all emptiness and our emptiness is how we define ourselves.
But our emptiness will become a river into which we will find the world to be held.
The universe exists in the eyes of those who live without the sight to see
Those breathing, freezing stars that burn into the heart buried deep.

Constructs of will and portions of strength cut out the guilt of my youth
All roads lead to the sky but I will not seek to understand you
Futures are made in blinks and beats
Are they aware of the way we lay with our tangled feet under these threadbare sheets?

Follow the light of my darkness
A single shot of whiskey and a conversation whisks away my heart's hardness
All cool and breezy across the great green oceans
I'll meet you halfway between loss and a facsimile of dreamed emotions
Butch Decatoria Nov 2018
Where all walks begin.
Some are quick to find their end,
Wise still journeying.
Revised.
Daniel eason Nov 2018
Morphing objects, breathing walls
Gypsy caravans, market stalls
Roads to nowhere
Visions in mind
Where people are free happy and kind
Out there somewhere yet to discover
Chatting freely amongst one and other
As seasons go by people come and go
Letting go of what they used to know
A vison about a road to nowhere
Commuter Poet Nov 2017
Which path to take?

Become lost 
And follow destruction?

Or find 
A truer way
And live with the higher self?

A self that does not blame others
A self that strives to live humanely
A self that creates 
And does not destroy 

Which person to become?

Embattled, defeated
Drifting, rootless?

Or strong, grounded
Honest, compassionate

Which path to take?

I may need a guide, kind and true.
I may need a friend, clear and strong
I may need support 
To help me climb the many steps

All are there, 

But 

Which path to take?
10th November 2017
CK Baker Nov 2017
mirrored fly-glass
and polished chrome
are tinted
in the blood orange dawn
running dogs of lummi
hush quiet
on this celestial
summer morn

clubman bars
and tan saddles
strapped to
the lowered hind
skull caps
and fitted chaps
for the open flow
and rich peripheral scenes

concessions at the peace arch
(from the blue-coat fuzz)
black *****
and maples
cake the bow hill
and chuckanut

choppers launch
at edison
(with their metal fleck
and tuft)
a half moon rises
on the concho
and interstellar cross

cinnamon gulls
and ravens
scour the netted docks
warlock driftwood
and row homes
spot the winding
coastal roads

rumbling sounds
at the packer slew ~
the redolence
of briny bay
alive
on the overlook
at fairhaven
Spent a couple days in late September on a motorcycle trip with my brother...weaving through the small towns and villages of the Pacific Northwest.  Magnificent!
Devon Brock Jul 21
Nothing more than wiper slap -
smear light on a ***** windshield,
starbusting streetlamps through
pitted glass sliding
greasy on the bridge:

Every billboard passed,
every sign every whine,
every slumped leaning
off ramp neighborhood,
a blurred jagged vision
of what it is, what it was,
what it might be,
gone.

Though some hazy refracted,
gray on gray beam,
from out there, back there,
through the pupil to the retina,
focused occipital,
turned again into a shape
that wasn't hers to begin with.

But there she is,
behind a salt-crust window,
half-eaten by the blinding slats,
a perfect, distorted slouch
in a booth of vinyl bygones
off exit eighty nine,
with a bucket of fries
on her hands,
while I spit by
on a wet highway
to who the hell knows where.
It poured a heavenly rain today
The roads washed anew
Little streams danced and slid down the alleys to the music rains play

The Gulmohar petals in orange red hues
Lay strewn on the pavement grey
Perched atop the green leaves
Glorious they looked in the warm sun rays

A walk in the evening mellowed rains
The tiny raindrops fell gently upon my face And raincoat peach
Luminous  under the street lamps
Silvery Rain-beams dance
21st June - Rains
Outside Words Nov 2018
Like a flame igniting an old engine
A frisk of energy sparked
Turning my rusty, frozen gears
And restoring my memories of you.
In a hidden corridor in time -
A dimension since locked away
We two share an instant -
An unobtainable, infinite moment.
Like a fog creeping in on my soul -
An ironic, melancholy nostalgia;
I dream of sunlight on canopy roads
In a place I once called home.
Trapped in a reality without you
We've since broken our promise,
Extinguishing the embers
We swore to smolder forever.
This life is a sort of purgatory -
A spiritual test and journey;
A short waiting period before
We again walk hidden corridors.
© Outside Words
Chris Aug 2015
Some days you need
The rain
To sit in your
Gutter, or
Wash the roads
clean of your plans.

Some times the rain
Ends the day
Early
And closes the sun
Behind clouds.
I didn't want
To go out
Anyway.

And on these days
The rain
Hides your own drops
From your face.
What a perfect place to cry.

What a perfect time
To say
Goodbye.
jane taylor May 2016
precious innocent soul
skipping rocks
on cobblestone roads
vulnerable untarnished pure
no residue of earthly soil

return me to that naiveté
unburdened by layers
of fake masks
and perfect capped teeth
in narcissistic societies

but I shan’t grasp
at ethereal edges
of nebulousness
and ephemeral
innocence

i shall endure
what I abhor
a master’s soul
cannot be forged
in paradise

wisdom’s essence
‘tis not pristine white
hints of ivory
tinge the effervescence
of the sage’s breath

©2016janetaylor
RVani Kalyani Mar 30
I keep on walking the road,
Feeling the wind so cold.
Have all my assets of life packed,
Still can't figure out what I lacked.
Going on,I just follow the way,
I'm not sure when I'll make hay.
Suddenly,I find the crossroads,
Me in the centre,beneath the clouds.
I can't decide,I just look up,
Want the Lord to ask me what's up?
In the situation of Robert Frost's,
Where do I go?Wish I had the hearts.
Should I go straight? No,left or right?
I'm confused,I can see no light,
Will time solve this or my mind?
Will both my way and life rhyme?
Confused to choose among 3 things,3roads,3destinations.
An inspiration from Robert Frost's "Road not taken".
Yet still confused....
Poetic T Jun 9
Gazing within
I see only misdirection.

I'm at a crossroads of
                                Self.


But I want to go in two
           Directions.
      
So here I am looking at
        The sunset.
      As the moon rises.

And realise that every direction
          Is one I can take.
    I just have to take my time.
RAO Aug 2018
2 Liters Width this Bottle Neck had her Thirsty when i Pop Off.
"Hes Got a Unique Meter!"

Thinkin outside my Thoughts Manipulate Face hands off my Clock Box a Movie Theater
Soft Drinkin my Equilibriums "DAnkh"...
Hook up The Bracelet of Anubis Call it my I Watch
Achilles Heels turning red and blue takin on a Dog WALK
no roads better to cross Sapphire bird " Call that a Cold ****¡!"
from a "Pacman" in Paris Pans Panning Labyrinths A Mazed running on music like Tha Rock whippin better then jimmy Neutrons Stovetopper
... Style makes Our Classic Modern Eighties cheatah?
UhDDuz(UDDERS+ADIDAS) "GODDARD" "SkyWalker" Call that Harry Potter at the Roboxer smoking bud from jimmy Wonkers GobStoppers.
give that a D +
Oh Gosh *** in CVS / HoMâge/ Po-ca-hon-tas chair gifted like Op-rahs-Hola-no bras vuela-ar tuoi o-Yâ aur-revior no-mas Veteran Indi-En Sit-in on ma stick shift of Mua Cö-Brâ..... engine Knocking sicker then Jehovah with pneumonia
Can we get every Ticket so i can load the Super Bowl Comon!
Makin her Jaw Drop ready to turn Dragon Rude into an tan Dra
Dolph-in ima RAOBAWT fly fishin Santa Cla₩§ Idle Hands Examined n Exposé Gods
lips im here to naturally Lift I'd Volunteer for Slavery if the Hills were rich like Jessica Albas Exposed ***

yo problems in the street
I get hi on Florida Keys You a Hero Touch Down!
Stranger Danger in my End Zone
Lol










I4NIFX said he owns 3 Writing Companys But don't have any work to show us Lol
Try Aug 2018
its up to you on how it unfolds
simple to taste complex to face
yet you escape with out a trace
making your own way through mountain trails
skins pale breads stale hit another rail
will they even read your mail
was it just a tall tale
are you really west coast bound
will your talents be noticed
will you be over whelmed by emotions
is it real or truly fake
possible the biggest mistake was
not to chase the dream


             ©  Try
Antino Art Sep 2018
Who draws strength
from watching the passage of time
after dark
blur against the windows
of a moving train bound
for ends uncertain.

Who walks most balanced
on the beams of empty tracks.

In the shuffle of strangers
at a crosswalk, who finds
direction.

Who sees
clearer through rain.

Who finds their place
in the limbo of airport terminals,
on delayed flights
between chapters,
over open roads that branch
into tales of cities unseen,
in the turn of pages unwritten.

Who can keep track of time
during the improvised chaos of jazz,
catching notes scattered
in the winds of horns.

Who understands
that wind moves
fastest through dark places like tunnels,
during storms in late August.

Who finds their center
hurled in flight,
always coming and going.
Storm flight trains movement
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