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Ma Cherie Aug 2016
You were the boy next door
literally and figuratively
I loved you from the moment I saw you
Beautiful golden wavy hair
cut short but ****
soft eyes of a deer...
such a warm buttery brown

I used to fantasize about this feeling
though didn't know if
how, when, where...why
I was innocent as a newborn lamb
you seemed to only like me
or as if you only wanted ***

I was projecting or protecting
I am not certain
But the soft tender sensuous first kisses
I still can taste in my mouth
like sticky sweet caramel
every time I run my tongue over my lips
I remember....
I loved that mouth... and everything attached to it.

Our song was "Hello" by Lionel Richie
And you never knew
I thought of you constantly
after the kiss...for a long time
I waited

So I never thought you were coming back
Graduation came and with a determination
to undo the innocence
craving to know what everyone else already did
The night of baccalaureate
lyrical voices
"strawberry wine
seventeen...
hot July moon
saw everythin'
taste of love
Ahhhh bittersweet
like strawberry wine"
innocently
playing out for real
the most handsome guy there
Said he was 24
asked for a kiss... drunken silly, flirty girl
"Maybe... if I can get a burger first?"
he delivered so we kissed
though he was a gentleman that night
I made a date with destiny

Still remember
I wore a short denim skirt the front like button pants Confederates wear
so kissed warmly by the sun...tanned Native, naive skin...
a lacy white cotten tank top and these terrific kicks...black leather biker boots, square toed...kick ***
curly black long hair... hazel eyes
some say they can see green and gold in there...or something mysterious
Though I don't think I'm much of a mystery
I wore a little mascara... a bit of summertime blush and lip gloss
When I stepped out I got a "Wow"... so beautiful...**** girl"
I used to hear that sometimes but never felt that way... often times it made me uncomfortable
But I smiled and took his hand and trusted him
It was a barn dance so much fun
but I don't remember the ending so well
kind of fuzzy
I guess I drank too much
I do...I do...I do remember his touch
a strange smile just cursed my lips

So that summer I was with him
His father was a ***** pervert, an animal
and I couldn't stand to be around him
I remember jumping in the pool and it's ***** paws trying to touch me
If I told my Father
he would have killed him!
I remember he comforted me though
he did defend me that day
His mother was just such a horrible *****
I'm sure maybe because of his Father...
Brutally honest.. I suppose she told me I was just a plaything
I didn't believe her

Still don't... honestly
He used to like me to sing to him
In the back of his truck where we made a makeshift bed and we'd lie down looking at the stars....
and he left some pretty deep scars
But I remember...focus on the delightful, appealing  things too
like going to the lake and the engine died we had to paddle our way back
and there were bats overhead swooping and diving
He shrieked like a girl and I laughed...
we both did

As it turns out
He was seeing an older woman... I don't know how long
He was really 28 and so was she
Apparently they work together
To spare you the details I ran over his mailbox when I left and I never looked behind me...

I came back
your best friend
was dating my best friend
and you asked if I would go to the beach with you did you really think
I was going to say no?
I climbed in the car there you are
in the backseat
our eyes met like the day of the first kiss
I can still picture it now actually
you took my hand and you pulled me in
I laid my head on your lap...
Looking up in your eyes so happy to be home
we kissed again
finally...

I told you the story of how I'd been hurt
It did matter how much you'd flirt
or caress my hair, touch that spot...rub my neck... lift up my locks...and kiss me there, making yummy sounds...deep and seductive..
making yummy memories...

I was determined not to be hurt that way again
so you courted me for 9 months
And then you asked me to marry you...
So it was never all about ***...
although I know you thought I was **** and beautiful...your curvy hippie girl...and you knew that I thought you were beautiful too...my handsome shadowed face...baseball cap and sneakers, sorta tight fittin blue corduroy  pants  that just looked perfect ... maybe it was the back pockets and a nice white pin striped blue shirt with fold down collars
your laugh, the games of basketball, horseshoes, Frisbee... swimming
food... eating together was like food ***
we so enjoyed the connecting
the sharing...the tastes and flavors
you loved my cooking...thank you

I remember the convertible Mustang
our boat the four wheelers
we had everything and a four-bedroom cape... nice cars..
worked hard....nice things
we did lots of things together
we endured some terrific pain
nearly watching our daughter die
and watching your mother actually go
and your friend... snowmobiling will never be the same again Joey Laquerre... a local racing Legend gone
Irony? I don't know
his son dies at 17 in 2014 an ATV accident...

So many secrets so many skeletons we share in our closet
I miss that safe place and I know you do too
If everyone really knew ...everything..
well...it's such an epic love story
you told our daughter
And our son... how wonderful it all was
Reminisce with them a little too much even
I asked you why
you said you didn't know
and I guess you still don't
you're still with her
the one you left me for... you know
And the guy from baccalaureate he's still with her too
if I was so wonderful
then why did you have to go?

Happy Anniversary to the death of a marriage... 13 years

Cherie Nolan© 2016
I hope this is poetry I felt like it was poetry and hopefully worth reading... I realize it's a bit long but a true story no I'm not sad by the way...all good. :-) it's beautiful here!
Lawrence Hall Nov 2018
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
Rj Dec 2014
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
#happychallenge
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.
Sumit Ganguly Dec 2016
The wish trekkers
invented speed- wheelers
for feather rides
in ebb or tides.

We call these- automobiles
which frequently change plumes and styles.
We invest sweats for comforts,
save time and use in trades or sports.

Their utility changed from luxuries to necessities
now these run in frontiers, villages and cities.

4th Dec.2016
RKM Jul 2011
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.
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
Chris Jun 2015
-

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
Jay Jimenez May 2013
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
mark john junor Jul 2013
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
JJ Hutton Jun 2014
When he went through the windshield, amid the shrill fracture of glass and above the curling guardrail, he did not think of Junebug or his mother or his boyhood summers at Lake Tenkiller. He thought only of deep-grooved ritual: get in, turn the key, press power on the radio, turn the air to 1, and buckle in.

He saw the guardrail. He saw the guardrail and knew, or half-knew, what would come next.

He headed straight for it, going sixty, sixty-five.

He used to play a game to break up the monotony of interstate travel, back when he worked the night shift at Wolverine. He'd close his eyes for as long as he could while driving. He began with five seconds then ten, no peeking, eventually making it an entire minute, speeding down I-44 alongside the eighteen-wheelers and the farming crowd. It was around 5 a.m., sure, but a minute still.

Before he cut the ignition he turned off the air and the radio, always. His dad told him it made it easier on a vehicle when you started it. A mechanic later told him that wasn't true. Not even remotely. He still did it.

He saw the guardrail and thought of it in the same realm as driving blind, a game of chicken ending inevitably in forfeit although victory and loss weren't clearly defined, only the edge tangible, the heart rate going mad, the blood rushing through the tributaries of the body.

He thought brake. He even said it out loud, alone in the car. The air was on 1. The radio was on NPR, some story about "hacking" your closet. He saw the guardrail. His foot pressed down on the gas harder. He wondered what it'd be like to fly over the edge then he was flying over the edge.

He glided above the first snag of rocks, small cuts on his cheeks burning against gravity's drag. The car did not. While the engine continued to hum, pieces fell around him, shards of glass and jagged bits of the valance and bumper. The radio played Muzak. They were between segments.

He turned the air to 1. He hit the power button on the radio. Why didn't he buckle the seatbelt?

His screams came out in long monotonal bursts, automatic and not quite human. Turn the ignition, power button, turn **** to 1, click.

He didn't think about what he'd hit first, tree or rock. There was still some fifty feet to fall before that decision was made for him. He didn't wonder if the car would land on top of him. He got in. He turned the key. Radio on. Air to 1. Then he clicked, didn't he?

Marie didn't call tonight. Marie. Her shape started to form in his mind, waiting for him on the couch in that stupid shawl, her face lit, a bright blue, by the glow of the television screen.

A tree, he hit a tree first.

The rough bark tore at his face, chest and arm. He could feel the tree bend then repel him. He took a branch to the rib and continued his fall to the stony earth. He hit the ground and kept falling.
Savio Apr 2013
Delayed clock
Savio lays underneath unwashed quilts
Grandmother hand made
Savio lays with a woman
“Why are your eyes so Green.”
Savio said to her lips
She had painted them very red
and when they kissed
the lipstick smudged like a charcoal drawing outside in the April rain in Maine
“My eyes flicker green when you kiss me. When you are with me.”
Savio kissed her forehead
It was 1AM
Kansas
Down the street there is a church
the yellowish orange lights are on all night
When Savio buys 3 dollar wine
He walks to the Brick dressed yellowish orange lit Church
Pick up trucks that are thin with metal
rusted at the square gas tank
rusted at the curves of its wheels
rusted at the grill
rusted at the door handles
at the hubcaps
at the bed
at the windshield wipers
at the side view mirrors
at the belt buckles
at the radio dials
at the steering wheels
Flutter by
like children throwing rocks
like Winter
like rain at 7am
Savio sits there
drinking his cold 3 dollar wine
thinking of Mexico
thinking of the magical women he had made love too
kissed
taken out to dinner and lunches and breakfasts
thinking of Long Nights with his brother
Crossing streets with warm bottles of good beer
to Neon lit bars
to bars only lit by cigarettes and tiny radios blasting
Jazz or Rock n' Roll or The Blues or Billie Holiday
Never the news

Savio looked at the woman next to him in his bed
Her eyes were closed
He imagined her closed eye-lids as a moth
With its upright folded gray wings
night
standing underneath the warm breath of a Lamp

Savio liked The Moths
He read about them
He thought of them as the poets
as the painters
as the pianists
as the ballet dancers
as the violinists
of the insects

Savio also liked Boxelder Bugs
they do no harm
they sneak in through the cracks and door openings of homes in winter
They hide underneath sheets of poems
Van Gogh paintings on the walls
Savio woke to a Boxelder Bug on his lips once

The woman that lied with Savio
was beautiful
her clothes were expensive
her body was cruel not to touch
her life was good
Money
***
Beauty
Youth

Savio had none of these
He was handsome
His face was shaded with a few days of hair
His eyes were bright from the many days in the sun as a boy
His eye lashes were long like the docks of rivers from plucking them when he couldnt sleep
Youth was a long time ago for Him
and he sat at parks
watched the kids play
watched Summer
watched April
watched the Roses and the Trees and the Water
grow younger and younger
as He
Stood still as his fingernails grew
and his teeth yellowed by each AM cup of coffee
and each AM cigarette

Savio did not care about Money
he cared about ***, and Beauty, and Youth
yet,
did not wish these upon himself
he
Admired them
like a womans smile
like a Sunrise coasting over a cold morning with white Swans fluttering in the sky
and the Cigarette tastes like purity
and the cigarette has meaning
more meaning than Death
or Life
or being Wise

He admired the woman next to him in bed
he did not feel bad for her
or envy her

He envied on the ease of her sleep
The ease of her happiness
The ease of her
carelessness to beauty
or poetry
or music

He envied the Fools

Savio lied there
Her lips perfectly shaped like clouds
or the designs on a butterfly
or the moon's glow late at night
when the birds are dreaming
when the Dog is fast asleep
when the convict is tired
when the Sun has clocked out
24/7 Sun
like an immigrant

Savio looked at the alarm clock
3AM
the womans Dress and stockings and shoes and Bra and ******* were on the floor
along with her Class Status

Savio has always been poor
He enjoyed it
He liked long days
Reading yesterdays paper that he had found on the road
Counting the numbers of Blue Mini-vans that stop at the red light
He liked going to the park
Climbing a Tree
or sitting at a dock
letting his toes and feet prune
His skin red and the smell of dirt

He liked no Television
He liked his two pairs of pants
His few shirts
His red sweater that his grandmother made him
his pair of shoes
He had a little radio alarm clock
that he had since he was a boy

His father most have stolen it
Given to Savio as a birthday present

His Father was a good man
A bad man facing society
A good man facing his family
He did what he could to get by
He drank

Savio liked to think of himself as a good man
Though he enjoyed the Vices of life
That is why he could never be Religious
Savio was too brave to be told what to do
He was too wild to have his cravings and emotions held down by leather

He liked women
He liked Drinking
He liked cigarettes
He liked Cursing
He liked ***
He liked Humor and Thought about Death
He liked to Fight
He liked to contemplate Life
He liked to contemplate Women
Drinking
Cigarettes
Cursing
***
Humor
Death

Savio
was a good man
He kept to himself
Laughed to himself
walked to bars and parks and highway bridges all to himself

He was a Looker a Searcher a Wonderer a Wanderer

And Life
is a good place to do these things.


Savio got up from his small bed
looked around his small house
opened a small cupboard
grabbed a small coffee mug

Put on his one pair of shoes
Shined them with his old shine shoe case
that his Uncle had given him

He then put on his shirt
it was slightly aged
it was slightly *****
Tho
it was 5AM
and no one would be able too see this

He then put on his jacket
a dark brown swede jacket
it was stained at the shoulder
it was wrinkled
he had spilled gasoline on it last month
and it still had a slight scent of unleaded gasoline
Even though it had rained many times

His pants were strong
They were 5 years old
rough and thick with denim

He felt good
There was no wind being blown
His wine was cold
His eyes were clear
He had a full pack of cigarettes
and a book of matches

This time he walked to the Highway bridge
sometimes on the metal fence
there would be stale roses twisted around the fence

And Savio would pluck them off
dropping them over the highway
onto cars and 18-wheelers headed to Florida

Savio sat at the small cliff
next to the highway bridge
The grass was gold and tall
He took drinks of his wine
slowly the Headlights
turned to Taillights.
Ma Cherie Aug 2016
Let me tell you who I am
I'm an American Born girl
Proud to be here
I wouldn't want to live anywhere else
I've enjoyed my freedom...still do, and you?

Used to love running through the Barns and playing in the hay
I wear a dog-eared well worn baseball cap
most days
Some kind of faded ol' denim jeans and a fun
t-shirt...
and if it isn't ***** I might even wear it to bed...
I use homemade oatmeal and lavender soap, a little pink shiny lipgloss, maybe espresso mascara...dark red chipped painted toenails in flip-flops or work boots
hair in hat...keys in hand
all kinds of weather, I'm prepared

Yes I've hunted for deer!
Skinned and gutted one for a high school paper...
quite a caper..

I can change my own oil  
or a dang flat tire
break into my Volvo with a piece of wire?
Did I say that?!
And...I can drive just about anything
including...so true,  backing up a trailer into a boat launch

Oh ..my redneck side?
Come on let's go for a ride...
I've ridden on four-wheelers and snowmobiles
out in the glorious midnight
freezing breath is close to heaven on those mountains

Spent summers at the camp
on the lake
Swimmin'
cookin'
swingin'  and singin'
off from the the bank
crystal clear blue waters run deep
flyin' from a rope
holdin' on to serious hope
not to be pushin' daises
we were a bunch of crazies !

Raisin' kids...
Some people think I'm a hippie chick
and that's true too
I eat mostly organic food
I love to cook my hopes and wishes
in amazing dishes...
and sharing that with good people

I like interior design
I drink a bit of wine
And I LOVE dessert...
We are just like a
Strawberry & Blueberry Shortcake
Fresh fluffy white whipped cream
and berries
Homemade biscuits...
like a flag waving

I love road trips...
    getting high
... watching the world go by....
it's so wonderful I could cry
and I went so fast on that crotch-rocket
of a motorcycle
I thought I could even fly!

Why I love every kind of music
hard to stop me from dancing
and prancing through life
singing...poetic songs.

I am probably one of the most genuine
and honest people you'll ever know
come along I'll show you...
I hope to be like the Salt of the Earth
like my Father...
He valued this place
and I have some of his face

It's not that I can't avert the truth...
I can
I'm just not capable of lying...
not being truly dishonest
I mean if you ask me something
straight out ...
look me right in my eyes
I would have to tell you honestly
that I feel this overwhelming love for everyone and everything...

You know that it troubles me
going to a landfill and seeing all the waste
left in carless choices and hurried haste
hello, the Ice Caps people!!!
Those poor Polar Bears...

I swear...
I've resorted to trash collecting
in my town
All that is going to be buried in the Earth!!!
What the heck was it even worth?
I recycle or compost almost
everything!

Well it makes me sick...
time is ticking....
now is definitely the time

People are dying....
why am I crying?
...over my broken heart?
No, I can't
because the more horrible events
and floods of  information I see
word *****
on the internet or the news
different views
as NPR is bleeding through the radio
about how bad this world has become ....

And so many people with it so much worse...
So...I have this curse anyway,
wanting change...
trying to create it,
just makes me wish
I could go somewhere else...
run away?
no.... I stay

I fight
do what is right
this is my land, your land...OUR land
take a frickin' stand
to fix this country!

We need real effort...
a movement
and I would like to do anything
to make it spread...
before I'm dead...
so...
what can I do? And you?

Some people say you can move mountains...help please?
The people like me...you see
they always say I'm a beautiful mess
those Sensitive Souls
we get wounded really easy
and I get kind of queasy
though I've learned to have a thick skin,
every time they take me down
I come back around again
it is still harder for me to come back up
time is always short...

My face is bearing more freckles
these days
and the suns rays see my hands
a bit more weathered
though I'm still tethered to you
I still feel young...
have to tap into that,
Put on my baseball cap
n-play...
carryin' a big stick walking softly

So my body does not feel old...
even when it is...very cold
I fight for my kids, and your family too
I look to the blue
the sky
tenderly asking why?
I can see the heavens
They are consoling my heart
I've been to the very...
very bottom
And I always got a new start
don't give up...
we still have work to do...
yes me ...
and you too

Hey, I still believe in fairy tales
and miracles
In shooting stars
healing scars
The butterflies in your stomach
on that very first kiss...
sent out on a wish

I still believe in love
and angels from above....
I have Faith
This world...the Earth can heal
I feel my heart,
well it will heal right too
I can feel
it ...so can't you?
Tell me then ...what I can do?

Don't know how many times
a heart can break
 but I will help you heal
so....do we got a deal?
cause this thing,  well it's for real

...just take my hand..
maybe if we plan
to take a stand
say our demands?
as one...they'll listen?

 We can do it together
regardless of the weather
jump in your truck
and my beliefs might be
different than yours
I might be much farther to the left
than you are
we all want the same things
to be happy and free
To be
Whoever we are
I'm still waiting for all these answers
and I hope I will still find my soul's mate too...tell me? What else can I do?
Try listening to country music while you read this I think this is for someone who is failing to see the bigger picture in my life and others maybe? We are more then our perceived failures... and we are loved.
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.
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 ***** 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.
spysgrandson Apr 2014
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
The late great Gabriel Garcia Marquez uses the phrase, "the eyes of a blue dog" to refer to a group of short stories he penned. I have no idea what he meant. This "thumb tale" is one of many I wrote about my time on the road, hitchhiking in my teens. In this story, I had been sleep deprived for nearly 3 days and the dark desert came alive in strange ways.
miranda schooler Nov 2013
at the end of your ten day meditation retreat
you got in your car drove thirty peaceful feet and ran over a bird .
splayed its holy guts on the pavement like god
finger-painting
*******
across that deep breath
you were holding the way your mother held her first born .

you , thank goodness , were torn from the bible the day before they burned it for the verse about dancing to tambourines .
once you saw the blood of christ on a knife carving redwood trees into church pews .
now every sunday morning you hear glaciers melting and you cry easy
as a one night stand never ever is
when you see the feathers in your rear-view mirror scattering like prayers
searching for a safe place to land .

hold me to my word when i tell you i will leave today ,
catch a bus ticket west just to stand in the center of your highway
blocking traffic ‘til every feather’s answered .
i’ve see too many prayers caught in the grills of 18 wheelers and folks like us
have shoulder blades that rust in the rain ,
but they’re still g sharp whenever our spinal chords are tuned to the key of redemption .
so go ahead world pick us
to make things better .

we’ve been building a bridge through the center of this song since Mother Theresa replaced the walls of her church with the weeping cries of calcutta’s orphaned ghettos .
you wanna know what the right wing never got ?
we never questioned the existence of god .
what we questioned is his bulldozer turning palestine into a gas chamber .
what we questioned is the manger in macy’s
and the sweatshops our children call the north pole .
what we question are the sixty swollen lashes on the back of a girl found guilty
of the crime of allowing herself to be brutally ***** .
what we question is the idea of a heaven having gates .
silly .

have you never stood on the end of pier watching the moon live up to her name ?
have you never looked in the eyes of a thief and seen his children’s hungry bellies ?
some days my heart beats so fast
my ribcage sounds like a ******* railroad track
and my breath is a train i just can’t catch .

so when my friends go filling their lungs with yes .
when they’re peeling off their armor and falling like snowflakes on your holy tongue .
god collects the feathers .
we are thick skin covering nothing , but wish bones .
break in .
you’ll find notebooks full of jaw lines we wrote to religion’s clenched fist .
yeah , we bruise easy .
but the sound of our bouncing back is a grand canyon full of choir claps .
and our five pointed stars have always been open to the answer
whatever it is .

i know david argued with the chisle .
i know he said make me softer
when those tourists come looking for a hero
i want the rain to puddle in my pores .
build me holy like that .
build me a kite flown out a bedroom window at midnight
the day freedom set its curfew to 9:11 .

my heaven is a snow globe .
the blizzard will always be worth the touch of your hand ,
shaking me awake like a boy taking deep breaths
all the way down to the dents in his shins
like he’s building a telephone from a string and two tin cans .
he knows god’s number by heart .
he knows it isn’t listed in any book .
look me in the bull’s eye ,
in the laws I broke and the promises i didn’t
in the batteries I found when the lights went out
and the prayers i found when the brakes did too .
i got this moment and no idea when it will end .
but every second of this life is scripture
and to know that
trust me,  we don’t need to be born
again .
Michael DeVoe Feb 2012
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
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
http://goo.gl/5x3Tae
Leonardo Wilde Feb 2017
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?
:;,
Connor Reid Mar 2014
Motions croak in crimped t-shirts
Peace hurts the leg of 3 wheelers
Spit in a book, carefully holding hands over healers
Frosted articulation of bricks hitting off buildings
The doctor resumes surgery on the filming
Actress gummy mouthed backpacker sharing rooms with a jet-lagger galvanizing goo
If I phone myself, I’ll phone you too
Ad-hoc hop around dentures holding saxophones, laziness is the common king around here
Match the sketch with the deliriant fear free freedom and sneer
Shut the promo drunk and dolo
Potions of pogos bouncing so low
Both bones focal, keeping in a smile from an eye perched over the edge spitting on the populous
Attacking formulas with cruel gruel from the oesophagus
Wilting oxalis wooded in obelisks
Mortal coil in amphetamine greed for the sleep
Positioned slightly awkward and barely out of reach
Been seen being dreams piercing holes in the purple of the seeds
Peace is deemed green, free me from the iron between the sheets
Coins flipped in a river and an etude rings out with a profound sense of urgency
Won't wake up faces blindly painted deranged by a 5 sided box that gave fame to what was contained
Warp the wattage, walk in nervous
Hold cosmic stardust in one hand
Another a phone to call the best man
To marry the two hands and I’m sure the priest will understand
Hairs on the ceiling float through the window and provide an outspoken account of how they are feeling
Canisters of friendship huffed in the backs of vans till passing point seizures explain themselves
9mm film reel candy bars and ring modulation skeletal structure cat gut harps
Never finish a walk to work without beginning the start
Trolleys of Dolly Parton facelifts
Knife cutter butterfly anaesthesia makeshift
Hollow bellies of pardoned mop heads becoming a commodity
I can't say sorry if I begin to speak so oddly
I’d say probably yes if you lit a fire beyond the fence where the old man gambles drop-***** with 50 pence
Bite down on copper, synchronise the action
Winter comes and goes like conversation going out of fashion
Morbid, terra-fin switches waterbeds
Hints home at spit-roasting ostrich heads
Cost and effect, cause and intellect
The castle puts his foot down only to find a horses neck
Zipped up in honey, the combs hive mind should reconsider its self lucky
Unorthodox autodidact naturally diffracting compound eye composes paranoia and lies
The patronage of the savant is murderous and contrived
Its better out than in
The constant metaphor for unluckiness
Is where we begin
Radiance in a hot water semi permeable membrane crescent
Strokes the backs of frogs in the desert, stars iridescent and sun bears a weapon
Hammocks, ****, sweat on the brow, split lips on cornerstones of the solstice in the dead of now
Space-age ape on the country road lets out a cough
Caution to the hissing hills ****** in hidden zygotic havens
Actors have no time to cut themselves shaving
Austro-Bavarian chemical burns Molotov cocktail sewers
Crayons let me draw this face on, paint the day on and on, it gets newer
Its the context at which you and I notice the separation, that cues canned humour
2012
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.
Jayanta Sep 2015
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.....
Olivia Kent Apr 2016
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
Del Maximo Apr 2013
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
© March 22, 2013
A sonnet written for a gravestone.  I changed the name for privacy.
The Fire Burns Sep 2016
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
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.
Savio Apr 2013
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.
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.
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.
Laura Oct 2015
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
Tia White Jan 2016
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.
Emily Elizabeth Jul 2014
Memories are
My planets and stars that make up
A galaxy
Ever expanding

There was that time when I fell in love so hard I shook for days
But it was for a city, and everyone in it.
And it’s a place I keep returning to over and over.
It always draws me back.
And then in that city
I fell in love the way we fall in love with friends.
Like a lost piece of my soul finally found its way home.
And then that summer I felt what I thought was love.
And even though it wasn't
It still felt nice
Experiencing something so new.

Once
It snowed so hard we were shut in for days.
Or at least, that’s what we thought.
But really we made the best of it.
Tied inner tubes to four wheelers.
And all the kids in the neighborhood
Joined in for a snowball fight
Trench warfare style.
Man,
I hate snow.

I learned that family doesn't have to mean whose blood you share
But who loves you fiercely.
And that’s why I offered to take my brothers to the dealer’s house.
And even though we had to run through a neighborhood
Through the bushes and trees
Across the highway
And came back with nothing
It was still a moment for us.
An us moment.

I tried drugs in the arms of my best friends.
And it wasn’t even that great.
But still
It was another us moment.

And then I tried it again when we all went camping in my woods and we were scared of getting caught half naked by the fire and we swore we heard a four wheeler coming and we scrambled into the tent and it got cold and nobody really slept that well but
It was an us moment.
And I loved every minute of it.

My coach drove me home one day and I could tell how sad she was over her ex because she tried too hard to be happy.
We rode with music blaring and bass vibrating my chest and windows down.
And we went by the liquor store and we laughed a lot.
And then I realized what it’s like to have someone you could literally tell everything to.
She’s ****** up a lot.
And I love her for that.

Sometimes we swam in the creek when it was still March and way too cold.
It was ill advised but we did it anyway.

Sometimes we find places secluded from the world and live there for awhile.
We talked about everything even as an old couple sat fishing mere feet away.
They heard all our secrets
But we said them anyway.

We do a lot of dumb things
Like walk into abandoned houses and rip off things that cover pools.
It’s really dumb and we could get in trouble
But we did it anyway.

My brother and I ran into the pouring rain to the river.
It was cold
But it’s okay as long as you’re warm on the inside.
And we are.
So we did it anyway.

And sometimes we liked to forget we were really smart so after that awful test
Too many of us got into a car and headed to the city
Bumming cigarettes and learning the back roads of ourselves.

We like to play card games in 5th period that year.
We got loud and aggressive.
We had fun.
And that’s what mattered.

In 1st period
I learned about the world
From a man who knew everything.
I mean everything.
And I’m not gonna remember it all
But it’s not gonna matter.
There’s nowhere else I’d rather have been that year.

And speaking of being places
I came back to the place of my childhood
Where summers were spent being free.
And for two weeks I had a backstage pass to 100 different childhood memories
And others like me who fell in love with this role.
Only once in a lifetime do you meet people this amazing.
Only here does a mess look so perfect.
The sky poured bittersweet tears the day that I left.
And I tried not to.

I met the woman who chose
To give me a chance instead of giving one to herself.
I met my flesh and blood for the first time
And it felt like I knew them my whole life.

Sometimes you know you love somebody
Or you think you do because you’re expected to
But you don’t actually realize the fierceness of your affection.
Not yet.
So it wasn't until my brother and I rode seven and a half miles to see his girlfriend
When he stopped and picked wild flowers for her on the roadside
That I realized how much I love him and that he is golden.

When I visit Florida
I tell people I’m going home.
But the more times I visit
The more it seems to feel
Less and less like home
And more and more like
Florida.
So then I realized that home can shift when memories are made.

And in case you didn’t know
You can have many homes.
They don’t even have to be houses.
They can be people
Or moss terrariums
Or the city you fell in love with
Or the place where you discovered what heaven tastes like.
Which, coincidentally, is the taste of a raspberry white chocolate latte.

When people say life is short, they mean it.
And before you know it
The years will fly by like windblown pages of a book.
So apologize to that person you’ve been drinking poison over.
And tell the people who matter that you love them.
Because when the day comes when you can’t
You will feel no deeper regret.
It took me sixteen and a half years to learn this.

I read a lot of good books and watched a few movies that’ll ride in my heart for a long time.
I spent time with kids
Because they are still important.

And I’m nowhere close to where I need to be
But
I’m a hell of a lot farther than I used to be.
And I’ll take it.
this poem grows as I do
Carlyy Jun 2017
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
To be more specific, a town on the reservation. Home(:
The living room clock pounds like -
the framers hammer
The wood floor becomes an unintelligible -
ghost
The nostrils of a rail engine sojourner begin -
to shriek and moan , Alabama breezes rattle -
the chimes , the one o'clock tolling of the
town bell , the cries of the whippers , the thrush -
and the barn owl
Laden , eighteen wheelers thunder down the -
rural roads
Black and tans implore the Planters moon to -
'move along' , every crawling creature engaged-
in buzzing 'night song
June bugs tapping the windows , keeping -
time in the early morning crescendo ....
Copyright March 19 , 2018 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved

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