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My Heart Was Saying One Thing, My Mind Another ...

Some things you just know — like the feeling I get when looking at my children or the way I felt the first time I looked into the Grand Canyon. Some experiences are too strong for reason or words. There are some things, that even though they defy all conventional wisdom in your heart and your mind — you just know.

Never dying on a motorcycle is one of those things. I can’t explain it rationally, it’s just something that I’ve always known. It’s a feeling that has been deep inside of me since I first threw my right leg over the seat of that old powder blue moped. I knew I was never going to die as the result of a motorcycle crash. In many ways, I feel safest when I’m back on two-wheels and headed for points previously unknown.

Lately Though, I’ve Been Made To Feel Differently

I now had my daughter on the back of the bike with me. I’ve started to wonder whether my premonition covers just me, or does it also protect all who ride as co-pilot and passenger? Would the same Gods of 2-wheeled travel, who have watched over me for so long, also extend their protection to those I love and now share my adventures with?

Our flight from Philadelphia had arrived in Idaho Falls five days ago. We hurried to the dealership, picked up our beloved Yamaha Venture Royale, and then began our quest of another ten-day odyssey through the Rocky Mountain West. This was Melissa’s third tour with her dad, and we both shared the intense excitement of not knowing what the next week would hold. We had no specific destination or itinerary. This week would be more important than that. Just by casting our fate into the winds that blew across the eastern slopes of the great Rocky Mountains, we knew that all destinations would then be secure.

Then We Almost Hit Our First Deer

Three days ago, just South of Dupoyer Montana, two doe’s and a fawn appeared out of nowhere on the road directly in front of us. Melissa never saw them as I grabbed ******* the front brake. The front brake provides 80-90% of all stopping power on a motorcycle but also causes the greatest loss of control if you freeze up the front wheel. As the front wheel locked, the bike’s back tire swerved right and we moved violently into the left oncoming lane just narrowly missing the three deer.

They Never Moved

The old axiom that goes … Head right for the deer, because they won’t be there when you get there, wouldn’t have worked today. They just watched us go by as if it happened to them every day. Judging by the number of dead deer we had seen along highway #89 coming South, it probably did.

Strike One!

We pulled into Great Falls for the night and over dinner relived again how close we had actually come — so close to it all being over. Collisions with deer are tragic enough in a car or SUV, but on a motorcycle usually only one of the unfortunate participants gets up and walks away — and that’s almost always the deer. The rider is normally a statistic. We thanked the Gods of the highway for protecting us this day, and after a short walk around town we went back to the motel for a good (and thankful) night’s sleep.

The next morning was another one of those idyllic Rocky Mountain days. The skies were clear, there was no humidity, and the temperature was in the low 60’s with a horizon that stretched beyond forever. If we were ever to forget the reason why we do these trips just the memory of this morning would be enough to drive that amnesia away forever. We had breakfast at the 5th Street Diner, put our fleece vests on under our riding jackets, and headed South again.

We had a short ride to Bozeman today, and my daughter was especially excited. It was one of her all-time favorite western towns. It was western for sure, but also a college town. Being the home of Montana State University, and she being a college student herself, she felt particularly at home there. I loved it too.

We stopped mid-morning for coffee and took off our fleece vests. As I opened the travel trunk in the rear to put the vests away, I noticed that two screws had fallen out of the trunk lid. These were the screws that secured the top lid to the bottom or base of the trunk. I had to fix this pretty quickly, or we were liable to have the top blow off from the strong winds as we made our way down the road. We spent most of that afternoon at Ackley Lake, in the Lewis and Clark National Forest, before continuing South on Rt #89 towards Bozeman. I was still worried about the lid falling off and was using a big piece of duct tape as a temporary fix.

It was about 5:45 p.m. when we entered the small Montana town of White Sulphur Springs. They had a NAPA automotive store and by luck it was still open until six. I rushed inside and found the exact size screws that I needed. Melissa then watched me do my best ‘shade tree mechanic’ impersonation. I replaced the two missing screws while the bike was sitting in the parking lot to the left of the store. We then had fruit drinks, split a tuna salad sandwich from the café across the street, and were again on our way.

The sun was just starting to descend behind the mountains to our west, and we both agreed that this was truly the most beautiful time of day to ride. We were barely a mile out of town when I heard my daughter scream …

DAAAAAD !!!

At that moment, I felt the back of the bike move as if someone had their hand on just the rear tire and was shaking it back and forth. Then I saw it. An elk had just come out of the creek bed below, and to our right, and had misjudged how long it would take us to pass by. It darted across the highway a half second too soon brushing the back of the bike with its right shoulder and almost causing us to fall.

This time my daughter saw it coming before I did, and I’ll never forget the sound of her voice coming across the bike’s intercom at a decibel level I had never heard from her before. She is normally very calm and reserved.

We had actually made contact with the elk and stayed upright. If it had happened in front of the bike, we wouldn’t have had a chance. Thank God, with over forty years of experience and some luck, I didn’t lock up the front brake this time. That would have caused us to lose control of the front tire and as we had already lost control of the one in the back, it would have almost guaranteed a crash to our left.

Strike Two!

We rode slowly the rest of the way to Bozeman. We convinced each other that two near misses in less than a week would be enough for five more years of riding based on the odds. At the Best Western Motel in Bozeman, we unloaded the bike and went to my daughter’s favorite restaurant for Hummus. As the waitress took our order and then left, Melissa stared at me across the table with a very serious look in her eyes. “Dad, I don’t think we should ride anymore after about four o’clock in the afternoon. The animals all seem to drink twice a day, (the roads following the rivers and streams), and it’s early in the morning and later in the evening when we’re most at risk.” I said I agreed, and we made a pact to not leave before 9:30 in the morning and to be off the road by 4:00 in the afternoon.

This meant we wouldn’t be riding during our favorite part of the day which was dusk, but safety came first, and we would try as hard as we could to live within our new schedule. Our next stop tomorrow would be Gardiner Montana which was the small river town right at the North entrance (Mammoth Hot Springs) to Yellowstone National Park. There were colder temperatures, and possibly snow, in the forecast, so we put our fleece vests back on before leaving Bozeman. At 9:30 a.m. we were again headed South on Rt. #89 through Paradise Valley.

After a few stops to hike and sightsee, we arrived in Gardiner at 4:10, only a few minutes beyond our new maxim. It had already started to snow. It was early June, and as all regular visitors to Yellowstone know, it can snow in the park any of the 365 days of the year. We hoped it wouldn’t last. There was not much to do in Gardiner and as beautiful as it was here, we wanted to try and get to West Yellowstone if we were going to be stuck in the snow. We had dinner at the K-Bar Café and were in bed at the motel by the bridge before nine. All through the night, the snow continued to fall intermittently as the temperature dropped.

When we awoke the next morning, the snow had stopped but not before depositing a good two to three inches on the ground. The town plow had cleared the road, and the weather forecast for southern Montana said temperatures would reach into the high 40’s by mid-afternoon. The Venture was totally covered in snow and seemed to be protesting what I was about to ask it to do. I cleaned the snow off the bike and rode slowly across the street and filled it up with gas. I then came back to the motel, loaded our bags, and Melissa got on the bike behind me.

“Are we gonna be alright in the snow, Dad?” she asked. As I told her we’d be fine if it didn’t get any worse than it was right now, I had the ******* crossed on my left hand that was controlling the clutch.

We swung around the long loop through Gardiner, went through the Great Arch that Teddy Roosevelt built honoring our first National Park, and entered Yellowstone. As we approached the guard shack to buy our pass, the female park ranger said, “You’re going where? There’s four inches of snow at the top. We plowed it an hour ago, but you never know how it’s going to be until you get over it.”

‘OVER IT,’ is where we were headed, and then down toward the Madison River where we would turn right and continue on to West Yellowstone. Even though the Park is almost 100% within the state of Wyoming, two of its entrances (North and West) sit right inside the border of the great state of Montana.

“If you keep it slow and watch your brakes, you’ll probably be fine.” “Two Harley riders came through an hour ago, and I haven’t heard anything bad about them. They were headed straight to Fishing Bridge and then to the Lodge at Old Faithful.” “Well, If the Harleys can make it we certainly can” I told my daughter, as we paid the $20.00 fee and headed up the sloping, and partially snow-covered, mountain.

We made it over the top which was less than a ten-mile ride headed South through the park. This part of the trip didn’t require braking and would be easier than the descent on the backside of the mountain. As we started our way down, I noticed the road was starting to clear. Within ten minutes, the asphalt on this side of the mountain was totally dry and our confidence rose with each bend of the road. It was just then that my daughter said, “Dad, I need to stop, can you find me a restroom?” A restroom in Yellowstone, not the easiest thing to find. If I did find one, at best it would be a government issue outhouse, but I told her I’d try. “Please hurry, Dad,” Melissa said.

In another mile, there was a covered ‘lookout’ with three port-a-potties off to the right. I pulled over quickly, and my daughter headed to the closest one on the left. I then walked over to the observation stand and looked out to the East towards Cody. As most Yellowstone vistas, the beauty was beyond description, but something wasn’t quite right, and …

Something Felt Strange

I looked off in the distance at Mt. Washburn. The grand old mountain stood majestic at almost 10,000 feet, and with its snow-capped peak, it looked just like the picture postcards of itself that they sold in the lodge. I still felt strange.

Then I Understood Why

As I looked off to my right to walk back to the bike, I saw it.

Standing to the left of my motorcycle, and less than thirty yards in front of me, was the biggest silver and black coyote I had even seen. Many Park visitors mistake these larger coyotes for wolves, and this guy was looking straight at me with his head down. As I walked slowly back to the bike, he never took his eyes off me with only his head moving to follow my travel. I got to the bike and wondered if I should shout to my daughter. I knew if I did, it would probably scare the Coyote away, and this was shaping up to be another of those seminal Yellowstone moments. I wanted to see what would happen next.

I slowly opened the trunk lid on the back of the bike. We always carried two things in addition to water — and that was fig-newtons and beef jerky. The reasoning was, that no matter what happened, with those three staples we could make it through almost anything. I took a big piece of beef jerky out of the pouch and showed it to the hungry Coyote. His head immediately rose up and he pointed his nose in the air while taking in the aroma of something that he had probably never smelled before.

I don’t normally feed any of the animals in Yellowstone, but this encounter seemed different. This animal was trying to make contact and on instinct alone I reacted. As I walked slowly to the front of the bike, I ripped off a small piece of the beef jerky and threw it to the coyote. He immediately jumped backwards (coyotes are prone to jumping) while keeping his head and eyes focused on me. He then took two steps forward, sniffed the processed beef, picked it up in his jaws, and in one swallow it was gone. He now looked at me again.

This Time I Was Two-Steps Closer

He was now less than fifteen feet away with his head once again down. He was showing no signs of aggressive behavior, and as I still had my helmet and riding suit on, I felt like I was in no danger. I didn’t think a fifty-pound coyote could bite through Kevlar and fiberglass, and I was starting to feel a strange connection with this animal that was getting a little closer all the time. I threw him another piece.

Was It About The Beef Jerky, Or Was It Something More?

Again, he took two steps forward to retrieve the snack and then raised his eyes up to look at me. At this close range I started questioning myself. What if it is a Wolf I asked, and then once again I looked at his tail. Nope, it’s a Coyote, I convinced myself, as I held my ground and continued to extend my hand out in the direction of my new friend. This time he didn’t move. It was now my turn. I was down on both knees in the leftover snow from last night and started to inch my way forward by sliding one knee in his direction and then the other. He took a small step back.

I then started to talk to him in a low and hushed tone. He moved one step closer. The beef jerky at the end of my hand was now less than five feet from his mouth. We stayed in this position for the longest time until I heard a loud “DAD!!!” coming from the direction of the port-a-potties. My daughter was finished and saw me kneeling down in front of the ‘Wolf.’

When she screamed, the Coyote bounded (jumped) again and ran off in the opposite direction (East) from where I was kneeling. He ran about fifty yards and then turned around to take one more look at me. He then slowly entered the tree line that bordered the left side of the road up ahead.

“Dad, what were you doing?” my daughter asked. “Do you think you’re Kevin Costner in Dances With Wolves?” I laughed and said no, “just trying to communicate with a new friend.” My daughter continued to shake her head in my direction as she put on her helmet. I started the bike, put it in gear, and we headed again South down the park mountain road.

We had gone less than a quarter of a mile when something darted right out in front of the bike. It was that same Coyote that I had tried to feed just minutes before. He was about twenty yards in front of me and thank God I didn’t have to do any fancy maneuvering to miss him. I didn’t even have to use the brakes.

Still, this was now three encounters in less than a week. Or was it three? I convinced myself that running over a Coyote wouldn’t have been fatal. Painful maybe, but we would have survived it.

Strike Two And A Half!

We couldn’t help but laugh as we wondered if the Coyote had done it on purpose. Was he trying to scare us for not leaving the rest of the beef jerky or just saying goodbye? We’d never know for sure, but I wanted to believe that the latter was true. I will always wonder about how close he may have come.

As we got to the bottom of the long mountain descent, the sign announcing the Madison River and the road to West Yellowstone came up on the right. We made the turn and then spent what seemed like forever marveling at the beauty of the Madison River. It looked like an easy ride into West Yellowstone until it started to snow again. We crested a large hill with only ten miles left to go. At the bottom of the hill was what looked like a lake covering the entire road. The bottom of the road where the hill ended was lower than the surrounding ground and was acting like a reservoir for the melting snow from the hills that surrounded it.

This Low Spot Was Right In The Middle Of The Road

We approached slowly and stopped to survey the approaching water. We needed to decide the right thing to do next. The yellow line that divided the road was barely visible through the water, and we both guessed that it couldn’t be more than twelve to fourteen inches deep. I decided guessing wasn’t good enough and put the kickstand down on the bike. Melissa held the clutch in to allow the motor to keep idling. I then walked into the water in my waterproof riding boots. The boots were over sixteen inches high. “Yep, no more than six or eight inches,” I yelled back to Melissa. “It just looks deeper. If we go slow, we’ll be fine to go through.”

I walked back, got on the bike, and retracted the kickstand and then put it in first gear. Just as I started to approach the pool, I noticed a huge shadow to my right. Two large Moose were standing just off the apron on the right side of the road. It looked like they either wanted to cross the flooded asphalt, or drink, as they stood less than twenty-five feet away from where we now were. Every time I moved closer to the water, they did the same thing. Three times we did this, and a Broadway choreographer couldn’t have scripted it better. The two Moose moved in concert with our timing getting closer to not only the water, but to us, each time we moved.

Moose, like Grizzly’s, have no real natural enemies except man, and unlike all other members of the deer family, they have a perpetually bad disposition. They seem to be permanently in a bad mood and are not to be trifled with or approached. Even the great Grizzly gives the Moose a wide berth. I stopped the bike again unsure of what to do next.

It Was A True Mexican Standoff In The Woods Of Wyoming

“Melissa then said, “Dad; Let’s try banging on the tank and blowing the horn like we do with Buffalo. Maybe then they’ll cross in front of us, and we can get outta here.” I thought it was a good idea and worth a try. I again put the kickstand down and told Melissa that if they charged us not to run but to get down low beneath the left side of the bike. That way, the Venture would hopefully take the brunt of their charge. I started banging on the tank, as I pushed the horn button with my other hand …

Nothing, Nada!

Both Moose just held their ground stoically looking at the water. It was a true ‘Mexican standoff,’ where we were Speedy Gonzalez faced off against the great Montezuma. No matter how much noise we made, the Moose never budged an inch. After fifteen minutes of this, we decided to go for it. I put the bike back into gear, and going faster than I normally would, I entered the reservoir on top of the still visible yellow line. With a rooster tail of water shooting out from behind the bike over twenty-feet long, we crossed the flooded road.

Once across, we went fifty yards past the water and then stopped to look back. Both Moose had turned around and were headed back into the woods from where they had come. They either had no more interest in traversing the water or had been playing with us making our crossing difficult, while at the same time memorable, and another great story to tell.

Strike Three!

We pulled into West Yellowstone, and the snow was coming down in blizzard like sheets. We spent the next two days touring the shops and museums and even visited the Grizzly Bear ‘Habitat,’ which neither of us will ever do again. Grizzly Bears belong in the wild and not in some enclosure to be gawked at by accidental tourists. We also talked about our past four days ‘communing’ with the animals. We both agreed that we had been lucky and that we would continue to live within our 9:30 to 4:00 schedule as we continued our trip.

I lay in bed that night both thankful and in wonder of all that had happened. I thought about the deer, elk, coyote, and moose that had crossed over into our world. As hair-raising as it had been at the time, I wouldn’t have a changed a thing. I also thought about my over forty years of motorcycle riding. It was just then that a familiar maxim was once again forefront in my mind — as well as my heart. I repeated the familiar words over to myself as I slowly drifted off to sleep …

“When I Die, It Will Never Be On A Motorcycle”
~
January 2024
HP Poet: Melanii
Age: 27
Country: USA


Question 1: We welcome you to the HP Spotlight, Melanii. Please tell us about your background?

Melanii: "My real name is Arianna. I was born and raised around Dallas, TX and am currently still living here. As it relates to writing, my background draws heavily from exposure to the arts as a child and the fascination, I guess, for beauty that this instilled. My parents (but especially my dad) were enthusiastic about music, art, history, literature, and the sciences, and my interest in all of these topics was piqued by association. Growing up I can recall countless visits to the local art museum, watching documentaries in the evenings after school, attending operas with my parents, and running home after school in the early days of each month to see if the latest issue of National Geographic had arrived so I could soak up the pictures and get lost daydreaming of faraway lands and peoples.

With time these influences grew into a general interest in the humanities. I attended the University of North Texas in Denton from 2014-2017 and studied anthropology, French, and Russian after doing a 180 on my initial intention of studying and pursuing psychology as a career path at a different school. At the time it felt kind of reckless, but in hindsight it was definitely the right decision.

After graduating, I was working as a barista and somewhere along the way ended up going to Prague for a month in the summer of 2018 to do a TEFL certification, fell into poetry that fall, and then returned to Prague for 11 months in 2019 to teach English. It was very much the best and the worst of times: I met some amazing people while there, took the opportunity to travel around a bit, and lived and learned from a horrendous relationship that also transpired during that year. I definitely went into that experience without any clear objectives or expectations; looking back, life definitely took that complacency and turned the tables with it, and while it took several years afterwards for the dust to fully settle, I've made it out the other side stronger, more intentional, and more assertive than before.

Since then, life has really just been what it's been. There have been ups and downs, of course, but the lows don't hit as hard anymore. Right now, there's not much to report and I plan to keep it that way. It's nice. Peaceful. It's a new year, and with it I will continue to focus on working, saving money, making a dent in the hydra that my reading list has become, and overall just living well and building towards the future."



Question 2: How long have you been writing poetry, and for how long have you been a member of Hello Poetry?

Melanii: "As a teenager I’d scribble fragments of poems here and there, but never considered writing to be a hobby. That all changed around September 2018 when, for whatever reason, I decided that I enjoyed writing and wanted to dedicate more time to it. As mentioned in Question #2, this was right around the time I was preparing to relocate to Prague. It's kind of hard to describe; maybe it was just the excitement of the unknown, but that whole period of time had a sense of magic and beauty about the way it was unfolding which the “discovery” of poetry as a creative outlet only elevated."


Question 3: What inspires you? (In other words, how does poetry happen for you).

Melanii:  "At first, it seemed like “there was inspiration around every corner”, to quote another poet I read here on HP one time (can't remember who it was or the title of the piece, but they were describing how great poets like Bukowski seemed to find inspiration so effortlessly, and the way they phrased it has stuck with me). Fast forward five years to today, and while I don't write as prolifically anymore the words come when I have something to say.

Inspiration comes from many sources for me: music, art, and nature; random thoughts, feelings, ideas, and observations; the works of other poets; travel when it happens; disappointments in family and other relationships; loneliness…

As far as the actual writing process goes, it's pretty random. More often than not, I'd say the poems write themselves and I just jot them down once they're ready, or as they evolve and refine themselves to fruition. Not the most thoughtful approach, but it comes from the heart."



Question 4: What does poetry mean to you?

Melanii: "To me, poetry is a language — specifically a language of consciousness in its purest, most elemental form. Poetry has the ability of transcending and even defying the typical rules of language without losing cogency, and for me it's this inherent flexibility that makes it at once so unique and so impactful as an art form."


Question 5: Who are your favorite poets?

Melanii: "Federico García Lorca, Li Qingzhao, and Pablo Neruda are the top 3 names that come to mind. I enjoy the unique way that each one of them uses language and imagery to illustrate the pieces of their lives and humanity which they decided to share through their writing. There's an element of surrealism, sensuality, and expansiveness running through each of their writing styles that speaks to me in the way it encompasses the beauty and complexity of life's possibilities across good and bad times alike."


Question 6: What other interests do you have?

Melanii: "I enjoy traveling and would love to be in a place someday where I can do so more often. The urge to explore again has been gnawing at me recently, so after a little bit of research and number crunching, I renewed my passport and booked a flight to Peru for three weeks in March. I had promised myself to visit a new region the next time I traveled, and despite growing up in Texas I have yet to visit Latin America. The plan is to start in Cusco, sightsee there, then head south into Bolivia to tour the Salar de Uyuni, which has been on my bucket list since learning of its existence from National Geographic. I couldn't believe that a place like that was real, and words cannot express how excited I am to finally experience the landscape in person! With March marking the beginning of the end of the rainy season, I'm hoping to still catch some of the “mirror” effect that the salt flats are so famous for. After touring the flats, the plan is to take an overnight bus back to La Paz before heading north again towards Lima with some sightseeing stops along the way and a few days left over in the city before flying back home. So we'll see what happens!

Languages are a long standing interest as well. I studied French for 7 years between high school and college, and Russian for the 3 years I spent at university. Since graduating, I've kept up with both through podcasts, YouTube videos, news articles, and music, and despite being far from fluent in either it's helped a lot with retention and comprehension. Learning ancient Greek has also been an on-and-off endeavor since 2017 after reading Euripides’ plays and deciding that I'd like to read Medea in its original text someday. Time will tell if that ever happens, but I did recently complete an online introductory course to the language which was a nice memory refresher and helped with unpacking some of the grammatical concepts that threw me for a loop back when I first started and which are part of the reason I fell away from Greek in the first place. After Greek, I would like to learn some Coptic, Farsi, and Turkish, and would be satisfied with learning to read at least one sentence in Mandarin in my lifetime.

Outside of travel and languages, I enjoy researching and cooking dishes from various cuisines, reading, taking walks, trying out different exercise classes on days off (recently I've done tai chi, pilates, barre, aerial silks, and kickboxing, but in the past I've tried pole fitness, archery, aerial silks, cycling, and horseback riding), visiting art museums, dropping by the symphony or opera once in a blue moon, and watching videos and documentaries on philosophy, history, theology (not religious, though, just curious), and science."



Carlo C. Gomez: “Thank you so much for giving us an opportunity to get to know the person behind the poet, Melanii! We have loved adding you to this series!”

Melanii: "Thank you so much for having me and for all your efforts conducting this series of interviews! It's truly a pleasure having the opportunity to break the ice and learn more about our fellow poets."



Thank you everyone here at HP for taking the time to read this. We hope you enjoyed getting to know Melanii little bit better. I indeed did. It is our wish that these spotlights are helping everyone to further discover and appreciate their fellow poets. – Carlo C. Gomez

We will post Spotlight #12 in February!

~
Paul Cassano Mar 2015
Need some binoculars for you to see?
Please it's not cause you're blind to me
Jeez it's just cause it's far as **** away from this tree
I'm no peeping tom, voyeuristic sightsee
Looks like you're sleeping, boy you're quite the catch
wait I mean girl, actually honestly I have no idea ***** snack
ParisThePoet Apr 2016
On the beach,
Where the sand tickles our feet.
On the mountaintops,
Where the clouds are in our reach.

In the meadows,
Looking into your eyes, while laying on the grass.
On a roller coaster,
Holding hands, while we scream and laugh.

In another country,
Where we could adventure and sightsee.
On a hill,
Cuddling each other, as happy as can be.

In a cave,
Searching for what lies within.
Next to a river,
Where our journey begins.

Under a waterfall,
Soaking wet.
In the place,
Where we first met.

In your arms,
Where its nice and warm.
In our hearts,
Where we'll always, weather the storm

Anywhere,
I shall go with you.
Everywhere,
Just me and you.
mark john junor Sep 2013
all the poster perfect girls like her
are out in the field chasing firefly's
old men from the town look on with awe
they pause in collecting
all the eyes upon them in mason jars
to resell on the boardwalk by the seaside
to the tourists so they will only glimpse what they
will want to sightsee

you tell them that you had borrowed
your buick and a rose colored jacket
from a ribald singer from the ancient city
and her beard confused you into believing
that her favors are something rare and fine
like bone china from from Florida south coast
but its just semi-naked co-ed selling cookies
under the guise of a better world
one donation at a time
she sings softly to you
please mister lean in a little closer and make
all the world a better place

all the world is watching or so it feels like
and your step is light and full of imagined stars and sparkles
as the couple in the next room violently kiss
they are into the world and to them
the world is into them
laugh as hard as you can
laugh till you cry
the world takes no notice
she sings softly to you
please mister lean in a little closer
and comfort thouse who need it

the night is full of people
out strolling and laughing under summer stars
and a penny whistle player keeps the tune going
while she sings a ballad she heard in the far west
and dont it seem like nights like this are so perfect that
you could wrap em up and send em out for Christmas

the poster perfect girls all fall asleep
in a soft warm pile benith the moon
and you unload your burdens and lay there too
in the beautiful company
as the penny whistle player turns to a stronger tune
that gives you dreams of the sea
of the time you spent nailing Captain Kidd to the floor
and now hes one of your best friends
this life is a dream
and while its not always what we'd want
it never gets dull
she sings softly to you
please mister lean in a little closer
and make the dream true
David Cunha Feb 10
Vibrant despair blowing out like sand paper from the soul
Dreams of colour
Fearless hallucination of love
for the World

A stream of consciousness so pure and thick
like a raw gem
like a river
like a marching bull
Painfully fulfilling me full

I could run for miles if I had the Sea to sightsee
if I had the Sun gleaming on me
if I had your figure in memory
even if I had nothing and wasn't meant to be

A fuel that bursts my pupils into a huge void
serotonin
dopamine
adrenaline
and so
a rocket to the Moon and my hands on this keyboard
setting the stage for another round

I cannot be stopped, I can only be blunt
I can only do it
I can only run
Veins bulk in a steaming rush
and thus time disappears like a fog

I am lucky I am here
- David Cunha
february 10, 2024
5:16 a.m.
Alec Jul 2017
The world is moving
Watch as it speeds along
Singing it's favorite song
Rollerblading past
Houses, families, stores all fly by so fast
Spinning round and round
Whistling to the sound of the town
Down alleyways, past street signs, racing cars
Slipping between bars
Left, right, hop, spin, slide, repeat
Everyone else catching up with the beat
Dancing across the globe
Lights shining,
Illuminating the halls where everyone is gliding
Slip and sliding across the floor
Watch them all soar
Smiles dancing around faces
Nodding heads to the bases.
With another
With each other
With yourself
Ecstatic as an elf
Calm and cool
Or a dancing fool
Do the jig and the jag
Disco and tag
Sprinkler or twerking
Whatever you wanna be working
Cha cha cha down avenues and lanes
Who cares if you all look insane
Following the beat of the world
Rollerblading, biking, dancing, running, skating, walking, strolling along
Whistling the same old tune, humming to the comforting song
Wrapping yourselves up in love
Lost in the sea of doves
Holding hands,
Making plans
Watch what you can be and what you can do
Join us, you're already there, look at you already singing to the tune
Your own words in our intermingling song.
Mixing and changing syllables as you come along
Hear the music in your heart
Share your art, come play your part
Grab an outstretched hand
Wiggle your toes in the sand
Shop for hours
Climb up towers
Sing like a dove
Close your eyes fall in love
Dance wherever
Never say never
Read upside down
Sightsee in your own town
Follow your hearts desires
Until your body tires.
Then take a rest
And wake up to leave the nest
To be yourself
Better than anyone else.
Welcome to the tune
Come with us over seas and trees and dunes.
Don't just watch and wait
Join in on making fate.
Follow the tune
You'll make your fate soon
Come along
Sing a song
Moving and grooving
Dancing and prancing
Chasing after our dreams
No matter how silly it seems
Aha! There! See them flow?
C'mon, it's off we go!!
This was inspired by Someone In The Crowd from La La Land and Another Day Of Sun which is also from La La Land.
Mateuš Conrad May 2018
/not exactly an easy poem to write...

let's just say that i was going to title
this poem: 3am extravaganza...
  and write a revealing diatribe
about how I went to sleep at circa
1am, after having finished watching
gone girl, to be woken by my
grandfather, turning night into day,
eating half a cream cafe
   with ketchup and acting the most
primitive of creatures,
an animal caged,
  perhaps by walls, then again
by the big pharma...
                me? little pharma boy,
he stumbling, wearing two pairs
of glasses,
                   and all kinds of images of
the horror of misery,
notably able limbed, with a
receding mind, or better still:
a mind like a magic trick with
no preplanned execution to awe
a crowd, just me, acting out
a quasi psychiatric nurse...
    nursing not so macho?
probably elsewhere than in
the abolished asylums of England...
    Mike?! Mikey?! Mister! Myers!
I'd hate to write the details before
my eyes and not imagine angelic Amy
tripping and sour in a slurring
tangent...
         not exactly extravagence with
a man nearing 80...
           bashed around his room,
turned on the lights in the corridor and
his room, the television, and the radio,
ate, circa 0.5kg worth of cream cake with
ketchup....
    all I can truly remember was my
incubator voice...
   minor quest and I'm sure his son
(my uncle) has seen very little of
his father's (my grandfather's circus)...
one qualm though:
    we didn't sightsee the Warsaw old town...
but much of Cracow,
and thankfully he went to see
Auschwitz twice:
    perhaps he still has sentiments
for Georgian Joe...
               came my role to ask him
a few details about the remnants of
the night, and his quest / attempt
at falling asleep sitting up...

    already too many details...
   funny... the youth and madness...
     never really looking into how
the romance and the poetry dies
a sullen and sombre death,
when mingling with old age...
    as such: these people would
probably rather become blind than
have to explain to the en masse
    the Chernobyl winds "invisible"...

no, Sienkiewicz is, honestly,
a tedius writer, not some national treasure,
in English: objectively...
    twice bolesław pruß...
         not exactly complicated,
not exactly tedius,
     not exactly: but exactly repetitive...

came a thought, an escape plan...
***** gut, Friday night,
a girl crying walking behind a boy,
a starry night, a candle and a quantum
cat sending me vibrations from
the outer-suburban spiderweb of my
distant hole, and closure library editions
of books, not found in the public
local...
    
still, to borrow from Sienkiewicz...
        
    bi den rôsen er wol mac
tantaradei!
    merken wa mir'z lac
...

(po rózach może on poznać
     gdzie moja głowa leżała)

     Walter von der Vogeldweide

  (by the roses he might recognise
where my head lay)...    

     and then back into the clutches
of the octopus and 24h newsreels...
and since did fame = insomnia?
          as ever, language overladden
with more metaphors than nouns...
  
to cite marlene dietrich:
      the Germans and I no longer speak
the same language...

    even though I speak English and western
Slavic... for some strange, godforsaken reason,
I might as well be speaking Mongolian...
    chameleon and at the same time hyenna
that best recites: a city with necrologues...
with claustrophobia made by
old testament neighbours...
       peacocking death,
and the gold filled rooms of
the easily seen blind, deaf and half
limbed...

             essentially:
ailments worth the concerns when
admiring the lifespan of butterflies...

1st of May and the holiday:
    the day of work...
I knew that the 3rd of May existed
as the day of the constitution,
but the 2nd of May was most minded,
even though not, an official
caldendar red-card day...

sure, in England the flag day celebration
happens, every 4 years,
after the group stages of
the world cup...
                  red and white over here,
and over there too...

once upon a time I was under the impression
that I spoke both English,
and that I too spoke Polish...
   as it turns out,
        the upper tier of idea is
no man's land for me....
      apparently there are necessary
people to talk about...
            back into a language of verbs,
back into the comforts of
buying apples rather than growing
apples on a farm...

point being:
I'm not Italian enough to speak
urban english,
     metropolitan, "left"...
  and to speak minor town Polish...
I don't have to say anything...
a waving white & red flag...
        translated into English:
too bad Jacob...
                 a name a jew and the whole
RIPPER tourism feeding
with glad eyes on brick lane
at the bakery selling salted
beef...
Gyuwon May 2019
I radiate loneliness
And shine alone, brilliantly
I sightsee galaxies
And glare at stardust
Sometimes I turn off the lights
Dream through the bleak night

Forever I travel this endless horizon
Neville Johnson Apr 2021
The Princess needed to get away
A humdrum life she led
Movies have been made about this predicament
But this one is real, at a head
She wanted, needed, a holiday
So one day she slipped out of the palace, no one could see
She was off to have fun on her own, for the first time sightsee
Our young man had a day off, did not keep track of royalty
He spotted our lass at the patisserie
Invited her for pastry and coffee
Conversation ensued
It went so well, it imbued in their thoughts
That it was right that they should be enthused
At the prospects, the sheer happenstance
Both so alive, both so entranced
He worked as a doctor, healing the poor
She was coy about her life to her new suitor
Eventually she relented, told him who she was
She was trapped in royalty, that big because
You’ll be pleased to know they found a way
To kiss in bliss before the end of that day
And many thereafter, so many more
They now have two kids, one more in store
She’ll be queen one day, her love life secure
Travis Green Jun 2020
I just want to be with you,
to hop in the whip with you
and cruise the streets through the city
and sightsee, take in the iridescent scenery,
the beautiful landscape giving us the brightest sensations
as we reach out and kiss each other.
I just want to be with you,
feel you inside of me,
the deepest parts of you
bringing me the truth
soothing me under the blue sky,
making me feel at peace
as I hold your luxuriant hands,
gazing into your hazel eyes.

— The End —