"wheelers" poems
The old order changeth, yielding place to new
-Tennyson, Idylls of the King
Like dinosaurs our institutions gasp
In spasms of existential death; they pass
At first unnoticed by the casual unobserver
Who trips over a covenant that isn’t there
If you vote they give you a sticker
The ephemeral Constitution changed
Like sweaty skivvies by each president
Law libraries catalogued for pulp
By obedient functionaries in tees
If you vote they give you a sticker
The faithful escorted out of the cathedral
By a bored security guard on overtime
The altar linens for sale at Goodwill
And the sanctuary repurposed on T.V.
If you vote they give you a sticker
Some of The Just Plain Folks cheer for the Reds
And the others cheer only for the Blues
As the reincarnation of Jack Chick
Blesses their four-wheelers and plastic caps
If you vote they give you a sticker
Election placards on abandoned buildings
Promise again prosperity for all
The **** lab cooks behind The Kute Kidz
Private Academy of the Dance and Math
If you vote they give you a sticker
An outreach of the Bright Light Free Will
Missionary Temple of the Lord Jesus Christ
Of the Lamb Sanctified 501C The Reverend Doctor Master Bishop Billy-Bob Hairdo PhD, DD a-brangin’ Messages and His Esteemed Lady Apostle Heather
If you vote they give you a sticker
And blessed be the Holy AR-15
God gave to His People to defend themselves
Here in the freest country in the world
Which you can find behind the barbed-wire fence
If you vote they give you a sticker
While fleets of luxury presidential jets
Arc high over our public housing projects
Reminding us of our prosperity
Here in the richest country in the world
If you vote they give you a sticker
And them Jews for Jesus I guess they’re all right
But them other Jews they just ain’t no good
Nor them Cath’lics nor them Mormons neither
And don’t you get me started on them Baptists
(We seem to have been otherwise engaged)
“The old order changeth, yielding place to new” –
(But neither cares at all for me or you)
But if you vote they give you a sticker
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 7:30 AM UTC
Mountains
Freshwater creeks
Coach Lambert
Dry Prong
Basketball bus rides
Old Music
Latch Disclosure
Orca whales
Spirit
Openly gay couples
Church songs
Windy plains
Grinding at school dances
Four wheelers
Mr Rodriguez
Cold weather
Snow skiing
Christmas
Fir trees
Canada
Planet Earth Movies
Fizzy Feelings
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
It’s so late I could cut my lights
and drive the next fifty miles
of empty interstate
by starlight,
flying along in a dream,
countryside alive with shapes and shadows,
but exit ramps lined
with eighteen wheelers
and truckers sleeping in their cabs
make me consider pulling into a rest stop
and closing my eyes. I’ve done it before,
parking next to a family sleeping in a Chevy,
mom and dad up front, three kids in the back,
the windows slightly misted by the sleepers’ breath.
But instead of resting, I’d smoke a cigarette,
play the radio low, and keep watch over
the wayfarers in the car next to me,
a strange paternal concern
and compassion for their well being
rising up inside me.
This was before
I had children of my own,
and had felt the sharp edge of love
and anxiety whenever I tiptoed
into darkened rooms of sleep
to study the peaceful faces
of my beloved darlings. Now,
the fatherly feelings are so strong
the snoring truckers are lucky
I’m not standing on the running board,
tapping on the window,
asking, Is everything okay?
But it is. Everything’s fine.
The trucks are all together, sleeping
on the gravel shoulders of exit ramps,
and the crowded rest stop I’m driving by
is a perfect oasis in the moonlight.
The way I see it, I’ve got a second wind
and on the radio an all-night country station.
Nothing for me to do on this road
but drive and give thanks:
I’ll be home by dawn.
3.4k
I woke in the early hours to find
My head between her thighs,
She hadn’t been there before, I swear
And I’m not a man who lies.
I’d seen her out in the Public Bar
Of the ‘Jacaranda Tree’,
Halfway along the Outback Track
On the way to Wendouree.
I’d seen her dance on the table tops
I’d seen her prance on the bar,
I’d said to Lance as I saw him glance
‘I don’t know where we are!’
He shrugged, to say that he didn’t care
As long as she danced that way,
Her stockings, down at her ankles and
Her skirt in disarray.
‘Now there is a ***** to turn your head,’
Said Lance, with a burst of pride,
He’d been out on the verandah, then
He’d turned to go back inside,
She’d joined him there for a moment,
Just brushed by for a quick connect,
But he hadn’t noticed her eyebrow raised
In a sign that said, ‘Reject!’
We both had our eighteen wheelers parked
Outside in the hotel grounds,
I was headed away up north
And he to the lights of town,
He offered to give her the sleeper cab
While he drove the star-filled night,
I looked away and I thought it sad,
But the trucks both looked alike.
I heard him leave at the midnight hour
And thought she was gone for good,
It wasn’t often I hauled this way
Or stayed in this neighbourhood.
But then I clambered into my bunk
Above, at the cabin’s rear,
And fell asleep like a hopeless drunk
Till the morning sun drew near.
I made an offer to buy that pub,
The ‘Jacaranda Tree’,
But only when she agreed to stay
And dance on the bar for me,
I asked if she’d meant to go with Lance
And she looked at me with scorn,
I sleep the sleep of a new romance
And the pillows keep me warm.
David Lewis Paget
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 10:47 PM UTC
-
Why can’t I see past the buildings,
skylines obstructing my view,
collecting on the curb
with doorways and steps
inviting to someone else I suppose
Still I push past,
hugging the shoulder
of a rush hour highway
Staring into windows
as they pass, staring back
Exits signs point at me
but I can’t listen
Their warnings make no difference
in cloverleaf grumblings
and exhaust fume skywriting
One foot in front of the other,
worn converse high tops
gray, the greens are lost
with the sunset that breathes down my neck
reaching for one more moon rise
No rest, still creeping alongside
sleeping 18 wheelers purring
on their asphalt mattresses,
straddling yellow lines
leading to the bathrooms…not a chance
27 miles the sign reads
in reflective lettering calling out to me
It seems like nothing,
compared to what is behind me now…
My life or what it was
But that is no longer my concern,
my future is now 22 miles away
Where your arms are waiting,
holding my future…open, warm
and I begin running faster
Another 10 to go, down main streets
with coffee shops and beauty parlours,
one traffic light and a train station
a kid on a bike delivering newspapers offers me a ride
No need, it’s just around this corner…
On the lawn is a flamingo,
plastic and pink behind a white picket fence
with a gate that creaks and a porch light comes on…
illuminating my dream…as I see you,
it has finally come true
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 11:12 AM UTC
the smoke it pours slowly out
my shadow seems to be following a little further behind
I'm loosing my grip on this steering wheel
Swivin in and out of traffic
I see Minivans and 18 wheelers
honking and blazing thier horns
I'm struggling to stay awake
but only 2 more hours and I'll be home
I dig in my glove compartment and pull out
a pre rolled cigarete and my Oney Box
I spark the cig and pack me a little one hitter
puff them both down fast
and drink my 3 hour old coffe I got at some rumie gas station
its cold as ****
but it'll do the trick
I scratch my eyes and my *****
and turn up the radio The Current is a little to Indie for this night ride
So I put on 93.6 The Blaze and listen to some As I Lay Dieing
Ironic I have'nt died yet....
I listen and tune in
and then I tune out as the white dotted line
directs me towards home
where my dog awaits
to greet me
it's been a long trip
yes it has
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
irksome thoughts spin round the moment
and they flee to where iv fled to
and they tap out strange messages on my head
and they gather dust into piles
and the piles grow to hills with the
passing hours and changing landscapes of the heartstring
strings are for kittens to play with
chase round and round
she lay in the shade of an oak tree
by the roadside
in the dust hills
sipping her long island
and watching the road with languid eyes
leaf floats down and
unattached from the dream
she wanders
the dust hills wailing for lost loves not her own
and berating thouse resposible for every
slight ever felt
headlights bath the dust hills
as eighteen wheelers truck
the empire of america ever southward
into the cheaply painted tropical sun
she is bikini clad
and is forever clutching an ice cold drink
that eternaly leaves a smile on
her forever blemish free smile
in the ***** dark dust hills
i feel so alone here by her side
i want to run away
and sleep in a feild
with the ****** and the drunkard
with the apostles of night
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
I wake up from dreams
With goose bumps where your hands used to go
My dreams remind me what you looked like
My body reminds me what you felt like
My empty bed reminds me what you feel like
Your phone number reminds me you're not just a phone call away anymore
And my friends try their damnedest to remind me 'This too shall pass'
This too shall pass
But my heart is just starting to break
The dog days are not done
The pain is just beginning
And my heart will have to break up all the way
Before I can start to fix it again
I don't have much super glue
This will be quite the patchwork job
I get goose bumps on my finger tips
I get goose bumps on my chest
I get goose bumps on my thighs
I get goose bumps on my arms
And all I can hope is that every now and then you wake up with goose bumps too
This too shall pass
I don't want this to pass
I just want to be in the past I'm living in, in my dreams
Where you still sing to me the lullabies I sing to my son to help me sleep
And you wake me with gentle kisses to the forhead
And rubbing my hands with your fingers
My bed used to be such a perfect fit for me and you lying in this huddled cold mess of sheets
I can hardly find it in myself to take up more space then my pillows
You always took up more space then I did
And since you replaced yourself with the pillows
Nostalgia won't let me stretch my legs
I want to stretch my legs
I want to run away from this
But I can't run from pain
Can't run from goose bumps
I can't run from dreams
I will eventually have to close my eyes
And when I do
I will see yours open
Looking into mine
Saying I love you
Like you mean it
Like you always did
But didn't always mean it
Or at least you don't still mean it
I'm too young to be burdened forever by something I didn't choose
Like not having you in my life
You owe me too much still
Like a song on the piano
Like salsa lessons
Like a night out
Lilke teaching me how to fish and ride 4 wheelers
Like midnight phone calls
Like more good mornings
And less goodbyes
Like tomorrow
Like forever
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 3:42 AM UTC
that summer, Born to Be Wild
and Mrs. Robinson were on AM,
A & W Drive Inns served frosted mugs
and Tet’s blood had not long dried black
on Saigon streets
my thumb took me from the green tipped tongue
of western Kentucky across the wide world
to a café in Santa Rosa, where I spent my last
eighty-five cents, on a tuna sandwich
and chips
a bus bench was waiting for me
when the cafe closed its doors
at 12:10, the old waitress giving me
a generous extra dime of time,
knowing I had to face the night
and the bench, or the New Mexico road
I chose the latter and headed south
under coal dark skies
only eighteen wheelers passed, their screaming lights
robbing me of what quiet vision night’s monotony had granted
they saw my thumb, but not one stopped; they did not know I had walked
a dozen dark dead miles, and had not closed my eyes in 60 hours
nor did they care, about me, or my shadow on Highway 54
I talked to pinyons, cedars that dotted the mesas
and moved about like mournful buffalo, stirred to life
by a sound or a scent, perhaps my own foul road bouquet,
though they were mute, even when I asked them
if I was seeing god in their measured marching
across my desert dream
long before
the dawn I begged to come
I saw him, dead center on my highway
so black he was blue, his eyes like two emeralds
hanging in some ethereal space, staring at me, the rest
of the absent world unaware he was there, growling
the rumble so low I tasted it, as he might taste me,
I felt our nostrils flair, as his would when
he devoured me, I saw the blood feast
through our eyes, the last morsel of me,
a pale art form on an asphalt palette
as he swallowed the last of his meal
the eighteen wheeler came, its high beams bouncing off him
only long enough for me to see his mouth was dry
and his belly empty, before he vanished
into the blue night
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
Hushed in the smoky haze of summer sunset,
When I came home again from far-off places,
How many times I saw my western city
Dream by her river.
Then for an hour the water wore a mantle
Of tawny gold and mauve and misted turquoise
Under the tall and darkened arches bearing
Gray, high-flung bridges.
Against the sunset, water-towers and steeples
Flickered with fire up the slope to westward,
And old warehouses poured their purple shadows
Across the levee.
High over them the black train swept with thunder,
Cleaving the city, leaving far beneath it
Wharf-boats moored beside the old side-wheelers
Resting in twilight.
1.4k
The Torn Cartwheelers
“In the first place, let me treat of the nature of man and what has happened to it; for the original human nature was not like the present, but different. The sexes were not two as they are now, but originally three in number; there was man, woman, and the union of the two, having a name corresponding to this double nature, which had once a real existence, but is now lost. In the second place, the primeval man was round, his back and sides forming a circle; and he had four hands and four feet, one head with two faces, looking opposite ways, set on a round neck and precisely alike; also four ears, two privy members, and the remainder to correspond. Now the sexes were three, and such as I have described them; because the sun, moon, and earth are three;- and the man was originally the child of the sun, the woman of the earth, and the man-woman of the moon, which is made up of sun and earth, and they were all round and moved round and round: like their parents.” -- The symposium, Plato
- Back when we were cart-wheelers;
we rolled in unison with braided spines.
A woven chain of muscular fibre;
our interlaced vertebrae
assembled a duality of one.
- Made of moon, we lived as stars.
Invincible wholes, we felt like Gods
Free-wheeling on our myriad limbs,
tumbling through clutching forests,
Basking in our lack of direction.
- We grew arrogant,
Toes tight in our four shoes.
We hungered for dominion, impregnable,
Never conceived of life apart;
how we might be broken.
So we were reckless; scorned Gods.
Bulging with trepidation, they conspired
to put us in place.
- Ripped down the middle, we bled
until roughly stitched with forlorn seams.
Our unfurled marrow now two in place of one;
Female, male, we were earth-scattered.
- Jumbled and lost, we torn cart-wheelers
Were compelled to walk.
- Inconsolable, we wilted,
Unable to function as halves,
we combed the earth for our whole;
Calling vainly on spindle limbs.
- A handful triumphed and united,
Only to drown in euphoria when
their entwined locked bodies, starved,
Yearning only for fusion.
- Now we are accustomed to solitude;
dissipated stitches left tougher skin.
- Until we meet a silhouette of our half
Imperfect but concurring
our jarring zips catch often;
some irreparably,
But we feel again the semblance of solitude,
Crave to be two halves of the moon.
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 4:43 PM UTC
Someone observe darkness on the edge of the territory
Where our turret is located;
Everyone looking into it for decoding,
Decoding the darkness of our bastion and territory;
Talk shows are going on...
Everyone is quarrelling with their own view point...
One is trying to profess.... ‘darkness emerging for a new embryonic......’
Another one counter act.... ‘darkness means light don’t penetrate ...
... how can you expect some new without stroke of light .........?’
In between someone tweet ... ‘as they behave differently we call them dark....’
Another tweet comes in .......... ‘it is not baryonic.........
.......try to assess the mass..... You will get the answer....’
Debate goes on
Anchor asked for a break
Add comes in.....
..... illuminating the results of health drink to spout brilliance...
two and four wheelers run on.... as if going to search darkness in cosmos....
Put off the TV.......
Stand in the balcony......
Street light elucidate the road....
As if, try to cover up the darkness with gloss....
One pedestrian coming back from a wine bar.......
......and outcry.....
..... all of you are sinner......
Don’t cover up this with light and gloss
Let it be dark as dark matter
Where
Stolen light and gloss unable to penetrate.....
..... let it be remain in the history as murky.....
Night bird crossed the light post ....
....and strike a chord to everyone that deepness of night is growing...
Back to bed room
Laying in bed and put off the eyes expecting a new morning.....
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
Wheelers.
Dealers.
Back street concealing.
Double dealing.
Number's up by insane gear.
Killed by fear.
See those tears.
Rolling and falling.
Calling and teasing to those who use.
T.v dealers look ever so neat.
Smart suit.
Tidy hair.
Not like the scruffy skanky fella who deals on the street.
(c)LIVVI
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 7:08 AM UTC
Tony came out fighting hard for each breath
procedures and hospitals he endured
born an incredible child none-the-less
from him not one complaint was ever heard
taken too soon to the sweet here after
memories filling the hole left behind
a hero who faced his pain with laughter
giving his mom and sisters a hard time
the illuminating glow of his smile
riding four wheelers and fishing with dad
his pranking, teasing, giggling jokester style
cherishing the nineteen years that we had
a spirit for life some only dream of
feeling, forever, his presence and love
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 5:48 PM UTC
Brownwood, Texas is the place
Where we go to give game chase
Deer, Turkey, Dove or Quail
That’s where we track them on the trail
From a ground blind or a tree
This is where we feel most free
Drinking whiskey by firelight
Or sometimes it’s Cold Coors Lite
Hot, Cold, wind or rain, we don’t care
To fill our tag is our prayer
Rifle, Shot gun or Bow
To fill our freezer, with, bird, buck or doe
Sometimes we go just to camp
In the morning it is damp
Horse licking dew off the tent
Sometimes this is how night is spent
Flashing lights and UFO’s
No one believes us but we know
Taking Picture’s in Bluebonnets in spring
Lots of Stories about everything
Driving across condemned bridges
Chasing Deer across Fences
Busting bottles on the Sign
Driving through the River that winds
Multiple Jeeps, wheelers, Trucks of all Kinds
But Polaris Ranger is head of the line
When it comes to getting around
Smoothest ride on the ground
Kids, chase rabbits, and lizards galore
Collecting bones, climbing trees and more
20 years on this lease
Sometimes it is good for Peace
Of the soul and of the mind
A great place to escape the grind
Miles, Years, Family and Friends
It has paid in dividends
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
Sometimes I reminisce about my kid days, sometimes I wish I could go back and be conscious of all the great it was
Well, that was after we escaped the dim days, I’d wake up to a little house with two back yards and adventures awaited us
Me and my lil’ brother that was, we’d fight all day like any siblings
But we tagged along and cooperated too, played games until our eyes needed chillin
We had fun in those woods, dirt bikes, four wheelers, anything with an engine that sounded good
Summertime was the most fun, Fourth of July shenanigans, bein beach bums, winter time sledding and Christmas love
Tried doing things as a family unit as much as possible, going out to dinner with laughing that was unstoppable
Visiting my workaholic/lazy grandpa, wasn’t sure if I’d wear him out or he’d wear me out half the time, and my crazy loving nana
Sitting here older all I can do is think, I appreciate and will never let fade the memories of all my kid days.
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 12:52 AM UTC
when it rains
everything seems still
her body has the curves
of the grooves on wood
following the path of a moth
a woman
and three children
in a van
drop off phone books
and newspapers
onto front steps
at 4am
and it rains
nothing plays on their radio
she kisses them to sleep
“don't worry”
and they're asleep
but the bills aren't paid
and the hot water
is turned off
Tomorrow
the electricity
a boy without a home
grew up on the highway
the passing vehicles
the passing buildings
people
street lamps
hills
rivers and lakes
streets and turn signals
were his
friends
his television
When it rains
Everything stops moving
and breathes
I am still a boy
at twenty
When I can't sleep
I walk to the highway
and sit
the humming road
the humming 18-wheelers and automobiles
remind me of resting on my mothers heart
I drive to the city
To look at the buildings that are never asleep
To sit in wooden cafés and drink cheap black coffee
I am not a poet
Just a boy
Still on a highway
gazing at the world
75mph
these are my finger drawn pictures
on a foggy van window.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 4:56 AM UTC
Concerns held as laden
Toxic contagion
Leveled with a thetan
Embodied by satan
Cast its presence in philanthropic light
Take up the cause of an international plight
Meaning held to juxtapose
The congregation of those
Holding up their nose
For a lie they chose
Join a syndicate of shell game dealers
Collecting charitable gains
Join the big game wheelers
Motivated by social pains
Bleed the weak to feed the meek
And go to bed on a good night's sleep.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
Ever since I can remember,
these slugs been hounding me,
these wheelers, these dealers,
like drug dealers, they peddling
they lies to try and hypnotise
young minds like mines but you
gotta remember what they tell
you's real and what's really real
is two totally different reals.
Those maggots they try and sell you
on some pie in the sky, just another lie
another fantasy, another trap to
keep you and yours down in the gutters.
They tell you you ain't pretty enough or,
that you ain't smart enough, or you
ain't good enough as you are, and that
what you need is what they happen to have.
A bottle of pills to cure all your ills,
or is it just something to siphon your will?
You gotta believe me, man, or lady,
you can't trust those suits who try to buy
your happiness, your love, your self-esteem
like it was some kinda product to buy and sell,
like your worth is some kinda commodity, hell no.
Feel me when I say you're beautiful the way you are.
But those words won't mean a thing until you try
some introspection and realize it for yourself.
Can't nobody, not me, or the suits, tell you
how you're meant to feel, or meant to think.
The only happiness you'll ever find is from within,
and the only love you'll ever find is deep inside.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 10:52 PM UTC
Trapped in traffic in the city of density,
Warmed up and wormed forth my way,
Thru’ wild and wayward wheelers.
Whose motion commissioned in commotion.
Each movement a moment of maze,
With lurking fear looming large,
As tri-colour signals flagged ever green,
To a crisscross invader at a jittery junction.
Rules rolled are trampled on unruly roads,
Capped up cops snapped and coped up in vain,
Tutored wheelers swerved and swarmed,
Rules defined, flouters fined but never refined.
Will and wit overtook wisdom to breach and reach,
As taunting time forced a daunting spree,
My feet on ABC pads in a cosy car chair,
Danced up and down hand in hand,
With a wavering steering wheel at hand,
And tow my way in brushing bruising wand.
All and sundry on a shaky rock and roll,
Risk from dawn to dusk on explosive toll,
Rains draining up on potholes end up in pitfalls,
No solution or salvation in sight for safety,
Oh city users, muscle up your mind,
For a tough tussle of travel ahead around.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
Not Sure.
I guess that’s how I would describe us
How I would describe my stance with you
Are we a we? Is there an us?
I feel like there could be
Should be, you see
I feel pretty natural around you
“I’ve never been with a girl I can just be myself around,”
Well what’s holding us back?
Let’s dive into this thing head on
Oh but…but…
There are a lot of “buts” between us
But we don’t live in the same city
But you’re afraid and nervous of commitment
But you lose interest in women easily
But it’s just not a good time in our lives
“I want to be your boyfriend but,”
It sometimes feels as if my happiness with you is on the other side
Of a tightrope I’m struggling to keep balance on
Or more specifically it’s the distance between San Antonio and Austin on 35
And I hope I’m not dodging all those 18-wheelers for you
Only to get dumped in the end
But
I also know that happiness with you is as simple as eating Blue Bell
On a lazy Tuesday afternoon in your bed
Or teasing you in the soda aisle of HEB for your
Single-guy gamer-esque love of Mountain Dew
Happiness with you is as simple as laying my head on your chest
In the middle of Zilker Park with stars and Downtown Austin in the background
Or playing Smash Brothers in your living room
Happiness with you is even as simple as hearing your hearty laughter
It’s more contagious than you probably realize
I just keep thinking it feels so right
Whatever this is between me and you
But relationships are a risk, no matter how they’re pursued
Maybe this is for real, but it could just be temporary
I don’t really care quite honestly
I just want to soak up every moment with you
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 4:05 AM UTC
Asphalt as dark as ****
blacktop baking in the sun.
Eighteen wheelers rolling out,
big rigs headed on long runs.
Long stretches of highway,
from coast to coast they reach.
Across flatlands and over hills,
from mountains to the beach.
Any direction you choose to go,
will lead you to somewhere.
Maybe not the way you planned,
but eventually you'll get there.
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 5:42 AM UTC
I just find it so funny
Bravery and stupidity are so synonymous, but I don’t think they should be
Bravery is supposed to be noble. Knights are brave, cowboys are brave, heroes are brave.
Stupidity is supposed to be…well…stupid. People who cut off 18 wheelers on the highway are stupid, that guy who jumps off a second story roof into a pool (me) is stupid, jesters are stupid.
But can't you switch them?
Knights can be stupid for charging a dragon. Cowboys are stupid for shooting in a street, not to mention the slower cowboy is definitely stupid, heroes can be stupid (Percy Jackson).
People who cut off 18 wheelers can be brave, would you do it, with those butterflies of fear in your stomach? Isn’t that guy pretty brave for jumping two whole stories into a pool, when no one else would (I think he is)? Jesters can be brave.
So, are they synonymous?
And, if you think they are
Should they be?
:;,
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
Meeting my best friend whose first identity was my neighbor
A (friendly) doggo on every corner full of excitement and perhaps joining you on your walk
Feeling so confident that you know how to drive by age 13
The school, YMCA, and grocery store all down one street and up a left or down to the right
Friendly hellos and sweet compliments from fellow town members
The only thing brighter than street lights are the stars on a clear dark night
The smell of a wood stove or campfire burnin in the summer night air
The dirt roads behind the town roughed by ***** ole trucks and four-wheelers
It's not paradise but it's home to the heart
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 12:50 AM UTC