"traffics" poems
Is there a place that one can go
to truly be alone
to escape the hustle of our lives
and traffics monotone
Is there a place where I can sit
notepad and pen in hand
And capture the true nature
of this majestic land.
My needs are very simple
just somewhere to rest my head
with a simple little woodstove
and a comfortable bed
I have no need of music
for nature plays my song
I will fall asleep to crickets
and awake to sparrows throng
I will read alone by candlelight
the poems of the day
And think of friends I left behind
who would love to live this way
But for now all this is just a dream
that one day may come true
And it seems a little closer
no that its been shared with you
Aug 31, 2010
Aug 31, 2010 at 7:31 AM UTC
traffic in dreams
the deeper the love
the longer it will be to pay it off
deeper the diamond to carve from your heart
the darker the desire
the more cold cash
the harsher the wind in the lonely night
take sandpaper to your luxurious soul
but you keep its stain from your pretty eyes
pretty face barter for fish n chips
pretty words barter your bed and breakfast
dress it all in fashion from magazines
the strange combination of gloss and paper thin disguise
the strange combination of truth and lies
the greasy haired stranger
peers with all his might into the mirror
trying to find the man hidden within
he traffics in dreams
will sell you a plot of land
and the rainbow that comes with
ten by ten souls wide
ten by ten deep
sell em to you for a taste of the pretty
sell em to you for a touch of the tender
so rancidly reflected in his greasy smile
you thought the weight was easy to bear
thought that the lie you tell yourself suffices
but dreams are brittle thin walls you hide behind
watch the cracks spread across the pretty picture
it is painted with
watch the colors fade like sweet summer sunshine
the sweet wine turned bitter like tears
he sells you a dream that must be forever replaced
with an ever darker version
he sells you a lie that you will come to see vividly
it won't taste so sweet for so long
it will taste like dust
it will taste like loss
you seek him out once again in the dark city passage
his greasy hair fallen long ago
skin gone gray
he found the man in the mirror
he found his answer in all the chaos
tastes like dust
tastes like bitterness
seek him out to find he is gone
only a shell remains
a brittle shell
no-one gets cheap seats
without paying the price
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 6:20 PM UTC
The last 5 years feel like a numb, confusing blur.
Like I laid myself to sleep for a while.
Like I needed to be dead to the world.
Then one day I suddenly awoke to a longing in my chest.
A feeling I couldn't fight.
A quickening of my breath.
The outside world shone through the cracks and my legs guided me straight outside.
Fresh socks on the grass of spring's early morning dew.
As it soaked through to my feet, I felt alive again.
But who am I now?
And who the hell do I want to be?
What just happened?
And what am I doing here?
I keep blinking to wake up but I'm finally awake.
It feels like I've forgotten everything, I'm trying to remember who I am again.
I've been playing Eurotruck Simulator for 2 days straight.
Mindless driving through virtual country roads.
I've jack-knifed my truck and need to pay the service toll.
Have to deliver this big bag of seed to Hamburg but I'm stuck in the middle of the road.
The traffics piling up and everyone's honking their horns.
This is way too much pressure.
“Don't Worry Baby” By the Beach Boy's plays softly in the background.
But in fact I'm very much worried.
Whether in my online trucking game or the real world it just never seizes.
All I asked for is a day where I'm not incapacitated by my own thoughts.
They're useless, nonsensical pesters that make everything go wrong.
Stupid worry gremlins with bells on their ankles.
The harder you try to ignore them, the louder they love to play.
Until your mind is an orchestra of gremlins beating their feet into your brain.
It's impossible to get anything done when they're dancing away.
What matters is I'm still trying my best.
I'm leaving the house again, changing my old routines.
I even went out past 7pm.
What a real rebel I'm becoming.
Breaking old boundaries takes time but false 'safety' doesn't serve me anymore.
I sat in the pub last week and finally felt 24.
Maybe I'm a little behind compared to everyone else.
But I managed to save my jack-knifed truck and ship the seed to Hamburg, everyone has their own strengths..
Jack of all trades.
Master of none.
But in Eurotruck Simulator I'm No1.
Mar 9, 2023
Mar 9, 2023 at 4:42 PM UTC
The noise of the night now comforts me. The stove creaks as it cools, jets decend to the airport and the traffics throng wains.
The day unwinds, its events now memories already. Each event, each thought like a train on its own little railroad, disapearing into the depths of the mind. When morning comes a clean slate. Then within seconds the thoughts that dwell, stress and depress, once again tear along the tracks till they overwhelm you. They just circle the mind on little railroads. No journey to speak of.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
I swear to god I've seen that pole
about a kilometer a go
I swear to god I've seen that tree
barren, wasted of it's leaves
I swear to god I've seen that barn
bent and crooked on that farm
I swear to god ive seen that pond
the ugly geese have spooked the swans
I swear to god I've crossed these tracks
our shocks are shot and so's my back
I swear at god everytime
I have to make this god dam drive
I swear to god it always snows
humongous flakes, down in droves
I swear to god it always rains
when the gas tank's almost drained
I swear to god the traffics jammed
every inch of the trans
I swear to god the coffee's weak
like the towns, bland and bleak
I swear to god it's all the same
this road must lead to hells gates
I swear at god everytime
I have to make this god dam drive
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
TWO ENGLISH POEMS For A Woman
I.
The useless dawn finds me in a deserted streetcorner; I have outlived the night.
Nights are proud waves: darkblue topheavy waves laden with all hues of deep spoil, laden with things unlikely and desirable.
Nights have a habit of mysterious gifts and refusals, of things half given away, half withheld, of joys with a dark hemisphere. Nights act that way, I tell you.
The surge, that night, left me the customary shreds and odd ends: some hated friends to chat with, music for dreams, and the smoking of bitter ashes. The things my hungry heart has no use for.
The big wave brought you.
Words, any words, your laughter; and you so lazily and incessantly beautiful. We talked and you have forgotten the words.
The shattering dawn finds me in a deserted street of my city.
Your profile turned away, the sounds that go to make your name, the lilt of your laughter: these are the illustrious toys you have left me.
I turn them over in the dawn, I lose them; I tell them to the few stray dogs and to the few stray stars of the dawn.
Your dark rich life…
I must get at you, somehow: I put away those illustrious toys you have left me, I want your hidden look, your real smile –that lonely, mocking smile your mirror knows.
II.
What can I hold you with?
I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the moon of the ragged suburbs.
I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked long and long at the lonely moon.
I offer you my ancestors, my dead men, the ghost that living men have honoured in marble: my father’s father killed in the frontier of Buenos Aires, two bullets through his lungs, bearded and dead, wrapped by his soldiers in the hide of a cow; my mother’s grandfather –just twentyfour- heading a charge of three hundred men in Perú, now ghosts on vanished horses.
I offer you whatever insight my books may hold, whatever manliness humour my life.
I offer you the loyalty of a man who has never been loyal.
I offer her that kernel of myself that I have saved, somehow – the central heart that deals not in words, traffics not with dreams and is untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.
I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at sunset, years before you were born.
I offer you explanations of yourself, theories about yourself, authentic and surprising news of yourself.
I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
Where are you now, where do you live?
What do you value, what can you give,
or take and learn, absorb you sieve!
Look out a window, any window at all,
watch in silence the rainfall,
close your eyes and listen to the call.
What do you hear?
Does it generate fear,
Or a sympathetic tear?
Open that window for sounds and more,
of wind and the not so distant traffics' roar,
close your eyes, listen to the waves rush the shore.
Breathe in slow and deep,
Hold that breath, take a leap,
exhale, with control the air you keep.
Touch and taste with good sense,
your life does not end at the fence,
be a kid, or a wild child, no offense.
Wear boots then jump and step in puddles,
It may leave you a lot less muddled,
There will be those who walk away befuddled.
Live your life do no harm,
Wear experiences like charms,
Hugged, closely held in your arms.
Simplify, do one thing alright,
Start the day early and pray, at night,
too, give thanks and express any plight.
I know you not, yet, I but want to do,
About Him, who am I to say to you,
With an tender heart, pursue, pursue.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 2:35 AM UTC
Once upon a yesterday all the trees stood still.
No wind blew between their leaves only silence filled the air.
No birds sang, no grass grew, on here or the otherside.
It was simply green and motionless, as though frozen in time.
Clocks stopped, no traffics roar, no planes flew overhead.
It was as if time itself had left the earth as well.
There was a sound he strained to hear, was it one or two?
The sound of their beating hearts as her eyes looked at you.
For in that moment time stood still and all around them wained.
The world they had come to know was fading away.
No longer could they live as they had done before.
For once upon a yesterday had now become today, all their thoughts and dreams had gone, as they had now met.
Yesterday now gone, today is at its close and all we yearn is tomorrow, will it be mine and yours?
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:00 PM UTC
The morning comes, and dark clouds appears
Facebook notification alerts me about those clouds
Are clearing today and I must look out for sunshine
So what about me: what about our equanimity
in the New York city?
What am I going to wear?
Here I am dress up like polar bears
Watching my window curtain clings again the window pane
So cold inside, so are the contents in the tupperware
Looking forward to this sunny day, before the night comes
Longing for that special trip to the Caribbean sunshine,
The air in the city seem so misty and *****
The loud traffics sound is deafen, it's sicken
It’s time for some March morning moonshine
The traffic light by Walgreen pharmacy is on the ground
The black ice still hangs around in the big city
A poet lamenting about the well-being of the city dwellers
As many folks filed grievances about living conditions of Newyorkers
A poet might as well filed a complaint over conditions,
that led up to her cold, cold **** and *****
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
I was born, I was born
to a world, I could have sworn
made for me, yet I am torn
between two lives, for both I try
for one is true, the other a lie
yet the latter one will not comply
to the way I wish to fly
for one is made of wild things
of mountains, trees, lakes and springs
birds and beasts
green grasses, and broad leaves
of wind blown meadows, of rain soaked earth
of sun shine skies, where clouds role by
yet of late I find that I must pry
away, and back to the life where I cannot fly
to the life of work, routine, and traffics cry
I was born, I was born
but away from this
I long to be torn.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 3:58 PM UTC