Take a little road trip. You’re going on a vacation. Write about it. You had a favorite vacation. Write about it. You haven’t been on vacation in a LONG time. Write about it.
Or write about your dream vacation. Write about your vehicle. Write about road maps. GPS? Write about the street on which you lived. You see where we’re going? We’re on the road in one way or another. Write one more for the road!
Marie Elena’s Road:
Snippets of a Brooklyn Mission
(A daughter in crisis)
Calls in the night span nearly 600 miles
Of separation. In desperation,
We talk and pray for hours,
As schizophrenia’s power
Plots to devour her very core.
Grasped firmly in the jaws of crisis,
Dad and I turn the ignition,
On a mission only love can drive.
Finally face-to-face, we
See her palpable relief,
But this thief is unyielding,
On a mission of its own.
Her minute apartment becomes home
For a spell, as we try to slay this hell
That has claimed residence in her being.
But not all is lurid, as warm memories attest:
Love expressed as “Grandpop” meets her on the Pulaski Bridge
Each day after class, as her fragile-as-glass mind
Finds comfort in his care.
Laptop in hand, we’d snub our concerns, and
Sit on her stairs to catch our Buckeyes.
Or have a slice at Triangelo’s,
Reminiscent of Grandma’s own.
We soaked in the Brooklyn tone –
Polish bakery scents,
Market and Laundromat treks –
Nothing complex,
As we walked where we needed,
And nothing impeded our task
As we basked in the 50’s feel of it all.
Seeing through our eyes
Blew home’s breath into her setting,
Letting her fears reduce from life-threatening,
If for only precious moments.
That Fall, we followed our hearts to Brooklyn
On a mission only love can drive.
WALT’S JOURNEY:
THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW
I grew up near where the metal monsters rode.
Raised on the rumble and roar,
impressed by the power and speed.
Six abreast the rails curved around the bend,
straight and narrow the metal runs
under the trellis, Northward toward Buffalo,
to the South along the lake shore toward
Erie and Cleveland. They were the major players:
New York Central, Pennsylvania, Nickel Plate,
Erie, Burlington, B&O. Saturday afternoons
spent sitting among the corn in my
grandfather’s garden, trying to guess
which rail carried the next train through.
A blast of diesel horn, and a half wave/salute
from the engineer, and the train continued
to high ball it to its next destination.
Always my dream to ride the big
NYC 20th Century out of town.
Born too late, the dream will
always remain just that.
Two fabulous poems. You two are really something else! Having just read Sherry Blue Sky’s poem, at http://stardreamingwithsherrybluesky.blogspot.com/2012/02/dialogue-of-poems.html I am having an emotional Sunday morning.
My poem is a true story, and the she was me.
WE’RE GOING TO SEE THE SEA
She must have been eight
when she first saw the sea
which seems pretty late
for a small island girl.
But World War Two
had put an end to travel
and lots of other good things, too.
So when told of a trip
to a place she’d not heard of –
Littlehampton it was – for a dip,
she was ecstatic,
though in for a shock quite traumatic.
‘We’re going to see the sea,’
she chanted, all the way there.
‘We’re going to see the sea.’
But when they arrived she was so surprised:
they’d put a high fence round the sea.
An ugly ramshackle contraption, it was,
surrounded by rusty barbed wire,
its feet in the water,
a few yards away from the shore:
‘Why?’ she asked in a plaintive tone,
‘why have they gone and spoiled it?’
‘It was made to keep out the enemy,’ they said.
Without that, she would have enjoyed it.
‘It must be so pretty’ she wailed in a pet,
‘without that nasty obstruction.’
‘I think I’ll go home now, if you don’t mind.’
Said her Mum ‘Oh no, dear, not yet.
There’s a picnic to eat
then a ride on the seat
of a swingboat, high up in the sky,
and sandcastles to build,
you’ll see, you’ll be thrilled
before it is time for goodbye.’
I can completely envision this setting, Viv, and how your heart must have dropped at the site of your long-anticipated destination. Your mother handled it perfectly, it seems. Lovely poem!!
I love the varied construction of this poem, the sometimes short, sometimes long, sometimes rhyming, sometimes not word building. Very expressive.
Oh, I can feel the painful disillusionment!
such a visual and emotional trip the poet gives us – and the profundity of fencing in and out – always the opposite sides
It must have been heartbreaking for you, Viv, and – for your Mother. War is a terrible thing.
Enjoyed your poem very much.
Viv, I love the style of this poem. Pretty cool Mom!
Walt is conducting an experiment on this comment fiasco. This reply will appear in various places throughout and I will log the time of each posting to monitor their placement to see if there is a pattern to the madness. Thanks for flagging this situation. Walt.
What comment reply fiasco? I’m on someone else’s computer, and will try to get back to see what I can see.
Viv, I am so happy I happened upon this poem, as you mentioned in your comment on my site you had had an emotional response to it. I can just see that small excited girl come up against a rusty old obstruction that kept her from the sea. Beautifully done and so poignant.
THIS is like reading an old classic! So beautiful and vivid!
PS The above poem was not new – it was originally posted for a Big Tent prompt at http://vivinfrance.wordpress.com/2010/10/17/plage-for-bigtent-gong-5/
Oh, I’m so sorry. I had a misspelling in the poem. Of course she’s Anna Frank. I’m so sorry.
No worries. It’s fixed now.
Wonderful memories, eh? Nicely done.
If it was spelled ‘Anne’ in the first version of your poem, I believe that is actually the correct spelling.
Yes, of course … Anne. Off to fix again …
TEST 2. Walt is conducting an experiment on this comment fiasco. This reply will appear in various places throughout and I will log the time of each posting to monitor their placement to see if there is a pattern to the madness. Thanks for flagging this situation. Walt.
http://rinklyrimes.blogspot.com.au/2011/07/dream-destination.html
An oldie but it fits the bill.
Lovely photo and words….. and, now dreaming of Tuscany! :)!
Definitely a poem worth re-visiting!
How come I cannot see the poem?.. 😦 (the link tells me the blog has been removed or something like that…)
“Happy,” Andrea’s original poem was removed, and her revised poem is down-thread a bit further.
Marie Elena, I’m so sorry to have caused so much confusion and I’m so grateful that you help me. Only the comments to the poem suddenly are somewhere else at the bottom. Well, please don’t mind. I feel fine and I’m grateful for the the comments and I read them and thanks.
Thank you, Marie, found Andrea’s, I couldn’t open the link to Rinkly’s poem for some reason, I’ll try again.
Hi “Happy!” Currently, the link is about a dozen comments down from the top. But here it is again: http://rinklyrimes.blogspot.com.au/2011/07/dream-destination.html
Thank you Marie, the link worked!
I want to see Tuscany, too!
I just loved this poem! Could read it over and over. We are planning our “dream destination” to Tuscany…i hope it doesn’t rain!
Oh meg….. scary journey! Walt, the magic of trains…..!
Yes, Marie, wonderful memories and thanks for adjusting my poem. Only it’s not just completely right. When I get such a prompt, and travelling, is a wonderful prompt, your mind keeps on spinning. Hopefully you’ll forgive me for sending this and I promise you, this, final, edition.
Oh, how will I ever learn?
DOING EUROPE
When you saw
Rembrandt,
chewed the old
Gouda,
bought a
Genever for
Granddad,
lined up the stairs
for
Anne Frank,
picked a yellow
water bike and
pedalled through the canals and
learnt how small
you are
among ocean going ships in
the industrial harbour,
that’s when
you wonder
how a gondolas
feels like
and
that’s when you reach out for your bag
to put a tick next to
Amsterdam,
Venice it is tomorrow.
learnt how small
you are
among ocean going ships in
the industrial harbour,
Love that, Andrea! Very visual, great poem!
Andrea, beautifully written poem.
TEST 3. Walt is conducting an experiment on this comment fiasco. This reply will appear in various places throughout and I will log the time of each posting to monitor their placement to see if there is a pattern to the madness. Thanks for flagging this situation. Walt.
Thoroughly enjoyed this “trip”.
Pingback: Little Bird of Doubt « Magical Mystical Teacher
Although I wrote about the churches of Zacatecas before the prompt was posted, it still works as a haibun on travel. Enjoy!
I’m awed by the photo and love your poem.
In response to the churches of Zacatecas:
Fascinating poem. I love the imagary and depth to this.
Beautiful
Iris
what a joyful and uplifting verse – makes me want to leave the keyboard and go outside
What a small verse to deliver asweeping visit. Lovely
HEALING WATERS
I grew up on Lake Erie.
At times it was my best friend.
It healed my sorrows
and soothed my fears.
It provided a steady rhythm
to my otherwise chaotic life,
and a predictability
in an unknown future.
I live inland now
with no booming waters nearby.
But when I roam I always find
that I am drawn again to that rhythm:
to the healing sight and sound of water
Wherever I can find it.
I am a teacher in Arizona. Many of the teacher at our school come from other states. One of them is from Michigan, and dreams (in this desert) of retiring one day to a little lakefront cottage. She misses the water…
That would be:”many of the teachers” plural!
Lovely….. I, too, love the soothing nature of water…!
soft reminder of how repeating, and repeating may soothe the spirit
It’s the water itself, but I think it’s also the fact that you grew up there… I can imagine somebody longing for desert the same way. “There’s no place like home”.
Beautiful, Linda.
I’m amazed at how many of us grew up on/near Lake Erie. So cool!
I love the wistful nature of this poem, and hope you find your restful shore again.
@Linda, in one of my stories, I write about waves. I say:”Their rising swell brings in life, but also their changing rhythms remind us that they might grow bigger, dangerous, they might even destroy. The coastline is scattered with wind-shaped bushes, stones, sandy spots with their dreams of kisses on a summer day.”
Having read your poem I also feel like I grew up on Lake Erie – only a little bit to the east.
Your take on the waves and their more threatening and destructive nature as well as the romantic side demonstrates how many feelings moving water evokes in all of us…
I’m also a fan of the healing power of water. This was so well-written!
LOVE this. There is nothing that equals the music of the sea.
Your quick use of words makes this so descriptive. It gives the poem the feeling one gets on an actual trip–quick stops, lasting memories! Love it!
Wonderful Day, Wonderfilled Life
What a wonderful day it had been.
I sat with Peter, Jayne’s husband,
lunching with Kate, Jayne’s friend,
and Aaron and his Richard,
Jayne’s son and son-in-law.
Jayne was somewhere, painting,
my Barbara, too.
An accidental meeting between us,
the non-painters on the tour,
way, way, way high up
in a small Tuscan village.
Bel canto music purred
from the outdoor speakers.
Their dishes looked like canvasses.
peasant food made fabulous
I wasn’t hungry, so I passed.
I wasn’t thirsty, either,
but I drank their wine.
We talked,
then we walked,
and talked some more,
about nothing, mostly.
Not even about Jayne.
Or Barbara.
I bought a small painting
from a small studio,
for a small number of Euros.
It hangs now in a small corner of our home,
and in a big part of my memory.
We rode down
to our Montecatini hotel
in a bright red funicular
and never once thought to
sing Volare.
What a wonderful day it had been.
“…Their dishes looked like canvasses, peasant food made fabulous…” I just love those images! Wonderful visit, thank you!
such a picture the poet paints for us here today – fabulous feast
I’ll take the food! And the wine.
Delicious!
You took me with you. Thank you.
@Daniel, I love this. You catch the atmosphere completely and I also like the rhythm.
Yet another Tuscan poem urging me journey there! Lovely.
Pingback: Waiting for the Women « Magical Mystical Teacher
Waiting is often part of the process of traveling, so I have written this haibun, “Waiting for the Women.”
Two great starts. Marie, yours is a nice little journey and a vacation to the reader on its own. 🙂 Off to get some coffee and brainstorm my way to a poem.
Goose Feather Vacation
Baritone laughter floats on a plumeria-scented breeze
down a narrow silver path, past a faded scrollwork sign
A curve of clean white sand
warm and sugary
trickling through relaxed hands
cumulus reflections off a tranquil sea
conch shells, bleached coral, & fishnet bar decor
pirate bartender serves dirt cheap white rum
brightly colored tropical costumes
roosting on a terrace rail
A habitual philanderer’s paradise
martini’s, cigars, grilled speared fish
lust-colored flame flickers in cool trade winds
steel band resonates a Calypso pulse
exotic flashes of whirling skirts & swaying hips
glittering moon path across black water
alarm clock shatters another dead end mirage
LOL! Oh, “dream on”…. darn clock.
travel heaven! – For me the standout line is “lust-colored flame flickers in cool trade winds”
Though I don’t understand the last line (I do understand the words) – I smile.
This is great! The atmosphere!
What really impresses me is that you maneuver through those heavy words leaving me with a light impression. Here I loved to join you.
The ending was a complete surprise! Hope the dream comes true one day, it’s sure a nice one.
Alive in this world but in dreams we dwell, for whom the bell tolls we cannot tell. Hope is powerful Mojo!! Randy
“plumeria-scented breeze” “Habitual philanderer’s paradise” Wow! Now I can’t even go there, boo!
Wonderful dream…wonderful poem!
“cumulus reflections off a tranquil sea”
and
“conch shells, bleached coral, & fishnet bar decor
my two favorite lines, such accurate descriptions.
Thanks Kelly
“…picked a yellow water bike and pedalled through the channels…” I’m right there! Thank you!
… and the canals too :)!
These two comments were for Andrea’s “…Europe” poem, waaay up there. 🙂
Marie,
An all-too-familiar scene. Praying.
Sally, I’m sorry to hear it’s familiar to you. God be with you as well.
Stranded
by Jane Penland Hoover
On and on in all directions
palmetto, sand, and slash pines stretch,
long shadows fall behind
the way we’ve come.
Earlier my ocean fervor
imagined all of us refreshed,
by the sea’s salt flavored air.
My man weak from surgery.
paralyzed and silenced by the stroke,
still he’d smiled and nodded yes
when I asked, ride?
Edgy, one thumb extended now, I
stand the length of desolation
begging to be helped, taken.
A camper driver brakes.
I run from our stalled car – look back
at the four of them:
he in silence stares,
Grandma cuddles our curly-headed infant,
while five-year old big sister
presses face to pane, pleads, Mom…
Riding east for miles and miles,
I measured minutes, some desire
to flee responsibilities, my world
waiting for a wrecker.
I remember that mechanic,
patient with the damaged parts,
those rescuers trailing lights,
me left alone,
us to navigate the rest.
More of this, please?
I’d like to write something sweet and nice to you and here I sit and feel so sad. Honestly I don’t know what to say because maybe you went through this – and if you did, I hope that you had plenty of good rides after this.
What a tough journey.
I can see this poem so clearly.
on the road again
a path beyond my hunger
~moving always on
Love this…
thought I left a comment – went something like this: enjoyed the small verse delivering to us this sweeping travel 🙂
A really long one from me today, and I’m not even sure it’s a poem, but the prompt brought back a lot of memories. Thank you!
~ The Sea ~
All four of us,
The whole compartment is ours –
Our cozy home
For twenty four hours.
My sister’s lucky :
Got to sleep all the way up,
I’m sure old enough,
But they said, “No.”
During the day though
They let me climb there,
I lie listening
To the railroad’s heartbeat:
Ta-dum, ta-dum… ta-dum, ta-dum…
Dozing off,
Waking up to the tinkling
Of glasses – hate the tea,
Love the glass holders:
Silvery-shiny, sun catching.
There’s more sun as we get closer,
During stops
Babushkas sell corn on the cob
And sweet cucumbers –
Won’t be long now.
I’m waiting, plastered to the window.
When I first spy it,
I mistake it for part of the sky –
Just another shade of blue.
When I realize what it is,
It starts playing games:
Peeking out, and hiding again,
Teasing, but in a good way.
It is there, I know it now.
Soon, very soon we’ll see it.
There’ll be a station first,
A small town with a salty breath,
A house painted white,
We’ll live in for a very long time –
A month –
A kind quiet woman
Will greet us at the gate,
She’ll feed us pelmeni
(The food I dread, I call them jelly fish, )
And her husband – if sober –
Will play an accordion, and sing.
Then there will be a hot path,
And ice cream you have to eat real fast,
Before it melts,
Sun hats – yes, but sunscreen – what is it?
And finally, we’ll see it.
All consuming, dreamlike,
Inviting and generous, like a promise.
We’ll run towards it,
And it’ll wrap all around us,
Take us in –
My sister watching over me –
I’ll look up, wet and happy,
And see Mama and Papa,
Their impossibly young faces,
Smiling at us from the shore.
never road on a train as a child – but thorougly felt the experience here – could feel my face against the window pane- looking – listening – stretching toward the destination
Oh, me too! Thank you for the lovely journey, Happy!!! Hen
Jane, Hen, thank you!
vivid memories flashed be me there. Lovely.
Thank you, Viv!
I’m also there with you. Train experiences with my sister, we were there, too.
And Prague, almost twenty years ago I listened to conservatory musicians and singers in the Cathedral performing different Maria arias. I never was nearer to Heaven.
Thank you, Andrea. Lots of memories awakened by this prompt. So nice to read all the poems.
A small town with a salty breath,….loved that. Great poem, Happy!
Thanks Hannah! I’m glad 🙂
:)!
Love the ending. I am still smiling!
I’m so happy! Thank you.
“A small town with a salty breath” – perfect description. Also, a poem about the sea can never be too long.
Thank you, Sara 🙂
Outer Orbit
On the trip down the Trans-Siberian railway
I never went on, it was the first appearance of the Aleph
which reminded me of the vacations you can take
in someone’s eyes,
the screeching of life’s brakes
which brought me back to here.
Remember the trip to Alaska?
I tried to find out how much Russian vodka I could drink
before we got to Sitka,
how many layers I could bleed through before we left Ketchikan.
From the 30th floor in Seattle,
the planes looked like they were headed straight for us.
I kept searching for my own form of surrealism
but I hadn’t finished inventing it yet. Just try
and find the beginning of that circle.
Cathy used the piano as a table for her late-night sandwich.
Then she cut it in half. The sandwich.
Then neither of us said what we were thinking.
Think the sound the piano wasn’t making.
Then she went to school in Oklahoma and got engaged.
In order to be free or at least feel free
I must throw a rug over the barbed wire,
climb back out of myself
and look for the dumpster Jedi within
and blend him into the expressionless man
who stares at a roller coaster and sees nothing but a metaphor.
the power punched in here with :Then she cut it in half: sense of movement is huge and vaired – like life – in this
Wow! For me, who struggles with metaphor, your poem opened my eyes wide. Bravo.
Sometimes I think, no seldom, I think it must be difficult to be a man. You must be able to drink a lot of vodka, not showing fear, be half a Jedi and a poet – and here you add playing with metaphors. Thanks!
I like the encircling, spinning feel of this poem very much.
My feelings exactly.
Haha, thanks, everyone! Glad everyone was able to get something different out of this. I appreciate you taking the time to read it.
Oh yes, I got plenty from it: my mum’s name is Aleph, and I was raised in Seattle. All that aside, loved, loved, loved it.
It Would Have Been a Vacation
It would have been a vacation.
Packed bags, airplane flight, eating out,
staying at a hotel, shopping,
and getting away from it all.
Seeing old friends, meeting new ones.
It would have been a vacation.
Family sharing memories,
looking over old photographs.
Lots of hugs, eating, listening.
Together, working toward a goal.
It would have been a vacation,
but there was one person missing.
We helped bear the weight of her grief,
which cruelly threatened to crush her.
If the warehouse hadn’t fallen,
it would have been a vacation.
the use of contrast makes this trip so much more than a vacation – no time off – but life…
Another wonderful Quatern ! I also enjoyed “She Stood Alone” & “Friend” that you posted on Poetic Asides !! Randy
…the soundness of human companionship… so strengthening!
The form is perfect for the theme: the repetition re-inforces the sadness of the message.
What a twist! Yes, it would have been a vacation. Thanks.
What a story!
Wide Side Mirrors
Wide side mirrors will be enough
for him to see what is
approaching from behind
and the white line racing
away on his left. He sees
no need for the right side
mirror nor a rearview
since he has no plans
to pass anyone. No plans
other than a circular route
to the west coast and back
in an old rented motor home
stocked with bottled water,
sandwich meat and cheese.
He dreams of driving West on
route 66 to the city of Angels
then up California State Route 1.
Of course there would be detours.
The grand canyon has reserved
a place for him to rest.
He sees himself hugging
a great sequoia and viewing
a golden Pacific sunset. He is convinced
that Old Faithful will not disappoint.
Mount Rushmore shall patiently await
his arrival as will the bison, elk and
bighorn sheep along the way. He prays
for the time and day when the wide side
mirrors are all he needs.
By Michael Grove
a sweeping journey this poet lets us enjoy from the comfort of our chairs
… this route sounds wonderful; I have traveled some of it.
Ah, the joys of the open road and a camping car (as they are known here in France). Your poem took me back.
Yes, our poems are kind of our mirrors, right?
Thanks for the thoughts your poem develops. I like to wonder why I feel I need to go somewhere on vacation.
This is so tempting!
Beautiful moving images, Mike.
Willows Dripping Leaves
We two watch the yellow truck
roll up the length of curve,
our drive trees we planted,
watered, arching over now
shadows falling long
receive our sighs
What remained of our possessions
on the way to Durham distant town
unknown to this sheltered cove,
its wind-brushed grass where Holsteins
graze, unfazed and unaware
of our goodbyes whispered to the willows,
the blue-grey heron, beavers in their den,
turtles sunning on the shore once ours,
uncluttered now the kayaks sold
Clasped hands squeeze
release
Two vans engaged
we go
spacing didn’t stay – sorry – some lines will not seem clear with it all running together
A poignant farewell !! Now I have to post a farewell poem!
“…our goodbyes whispered to the willows, the blue-grey heron…turtles sunning on the shore once ours…” beautiful images!
I love these too, and the title. Poignant!
I have loved willow trees since a young boy. We had several on the property of my boyhood home as well as at the lakefront cottage. The home and all the trees have been replaced by a medical building and the receeding shoreline has forced out all of the willows at the cottage. Your poem is beautiful and obviously brought back many memories. I don’t like moving.
I hate farewells and goodbyes. The precious fields of my childhood farm are now highways, multiple lanes spread all over our place. Only that particular place will always live in my heart like my parents, my grandparents – well, that farm fed my family for hundreds of years. Today it has gone.
But at the edge of life – life taught me that only people count. What was my greatest loss?
And that’s what I hear you say – two vans engaged, we go.
I love this: “we go.”
So much pain in this, but hope too. A beautiful poem.
Beautiful poem and title.
Farewell Begins
every measure emotional notes pierce deeper
seeking out different chambers of my heart
an old man’s valor trapped in cinnabar walls
beyond lingering scent of an endless feast
golden roads have turned forbidding
a desolate silence in fading light
beyond banished plains of exile
place in the song where farewell begins
a journey through an old friends heart
inscribed in traces of smoke and dust
where home is a five thousand mile dream away
when will we join old friends again?
reopen the valve of joy in my heart
spread me like honey over slices of your poetry
send joy rippling like an offshore breeze
sign your name with nobility
by Randy Bell
…..sadness begins…
There’s beauty in farewells.
“journey through a friend’s heart” – really says it all. Beautiful poem.
Away Too Long
No guidebook is needed
when the destination is home.
The roads are familiar,
street names like family,
restaurants look the same
with menus that never change.
Things to do, places to see,
ingrained in memory —
the faces are all older,
the people still the same.
The easiest path to travel,
hardest journey to begin.
Loved your poem. Short and sweet. “No guidebook is needed when the destination is home” was a great line.
There’s no place like home.
Yes, oh so true!
Ditto what poetryshack said ! Well Done
I love the first two lines. Part of me is also a “home, sweet home” – type of person. Then I relax and enjoy the next stanza. But then what: Why is it the hardest journey to begin?
Thank you for your comments. I can see the last line throwing you based on the rest; I guess it has to go back to the title to make the implication work.
I think that in part it’s so difficult, because not everything is the same, including ourselves. We cannot always find what we are looking for, when we dare go back.
Agreed. I think that is the essence of the ‘you can’t go home again’ statement. Everything may look the same, but we have changed so how we perceive everything is different.
There’s a beautiful poem by a Russian (or should I say Soviet) poet about this. I might attempt to translate it some day. It goes something like this, “Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, the truth is simple: never go back to the old places… neither you, nor I, will find what we are looking for.”
Everything there is to say in so few words. Love it.
You tied it all together perfectly. Truth for many.
I keep rereading this one; it touches me every time. Nicely done, Mark.
Marie, loved your poem. Hope your daughter is feeling better.
Walt, loved you poem, too. Always something nostalgic about trains, a feeling of yearning and loss, a beautiful feeling though.
I echo both of these sentiments, stated well, Happy-Sasha. 🙂
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So many wonderful poems here, I’m in awe and slightly overwhelmed. Loved. Loved. Loved. Something about ‘Born too late’ in Walt’s poem lit a spark in my head.
We were just talking today about how nice it would be to go back to Europe one day, as tourists. We used to live in Prague, both our kids were born there. Lots of memories.
Nice, Andrea!
Thanks so much for the kind comments on my poem today.
Schizophrenia is a relentless monster. Though there are still struggles, my lovely daughter is doing far better at this time, and we couldn’t be more thankful. As I told my dad, though that was a difficult trip for obvious reasons and in obvious ways, it is one I will treasure always.
As always, Walt’s prompt has spurred many memories and great poetry. What a talented and supportive group we have here. Thanks so much, all of you!
<3's and blessings to you, Marie. You're amazing, such beauty and strength.
@Marie Elena, I didn’t understand your poem when I first read it (daughter in crisis?).
Then I read your explanation and now I keep returning. I never was on that road but how I understand now! This is so tender that I can hardly grasp it – only now you gave me this flash and now I love your poem. Rhythm, words and speed. Thanks!
I’m so glad that you arrived in time and also that your daughter is better.
Hugs from Trans Atlantic East Lake Erie.
Sounds like quite a journey Walt & Marie Elena. Sometimes the journey comes with unexpected events but a journey nonetheless. Make life adventurous.
Wow, there are tons of comments and poetry already! Sounds like the journey for this week is off to swift start!
~PACING~
Placing feet
heel…to…toe,
heel…to…toe;
roaming,
rousing,
dreams to motion.
Portioning mortar,
cleaving stone
to humble stone,
brick fixed
on solid thought .
Building tower,
mindful mansion
raised by intentions.
Choices changing
purpose to action,
weight in each step;
heel…to …toe,
heel…to…toe,
pacing.
Wow… you have such a gift, Hannah! Hen
You’re so encouraging, thank you, Hen! 🙂
And, as are you! :)!
🙂
Hannah, this sounds like a past 20 kilometer rhythm on the Camino in Spain. Thanks for bringing me back.
Thank you, Andrea! 🙂
You’ve just brought purpose to my chaotic day, Hannah! Keep pacing. 🙂
And you, in turn, have brought purpose to mine! Thank you!! 🙂
Oh, Hannah you enlightened my perspective, thank you!
So glad it resonated with you, Kelly! Thank you! 😉
Hannah, this was quite a delightful read.
I’m so glad you enjoyed it, Benjamin, thank you! 🙂
Sweet Hannah, you DO have a gift, as Hen says. This poem is simply fabulous. I’d love to have this on a refrigerator magnet, right next to my “Dreams awake” line from Thoreau.
I love to think of my words adorning your fridge. How cool would that be? A little bit of me in your actual tangible world! Thank you so much for this lovely comment, Marie! <3's to you!
Pingback: ~PACING~ « Metaphors and Smiles
Your poem brilliantly epitomises that very American travel culture of whistle-stop tours. What day is it? Wednesday? This must be France…
BTW I only know her as Anne Frank.
Viv, yes, that was the image I wanted to create here. And Viv, Marie Elena helped me – she corrected my misspelling, so yes, Anna Frank is Anna Frank – she wiped away my wrong spelling so you can’t see it anymore.
Then later I found out “channels” and “canals” aren’t the same, so though channels works better with the rhythm, I had to put in the right word. Oh, what a mess. Guess the key word is “patience.”
Like Viv, I’ve only known her as Anne (short for Annelies) Frank.
Pingback: I Slip Through the Gate « Magical Mystical Teacher
Sometimes we travel to distant places only in our hearts, as my haibun, “I Slip Through the Gate,” demonstrates.
My Mobile Haven
I love my car
Its my mobile haven
A Paradise on wheels
An ecstasy in motion
Although when stationary
its just as therapeutic
I shift gears to park my soul
and slightly roll the windows
to allow rich gentle sounds
of the surroundings to penetrate
my Psyche and have access to
Massage my inner being
The train ay a distance
dog barking faintly from afar
The variation of wind
from violent to soft rustle
swaying branches bushes boughs and leaf
helpless against its power
Theyy offer no resistance
My Mobile Haven
I love my car
Its my mobile haven
A Paradise on wheels
An ecstasy in motion
Although when stationary
its just as therapeutic
I shift gears to park my soul
and slightly roll the windows
to allow rich gentle sounds
of the surroundings to penetrate
my Psyche and have access to
Massage my inner being
The train ay a distance
dog barking faintly from afar
The variation of wind
from violent to soft rustle
swaying branches bushes boughs and leaf
helpless against its power
They offer no resistance
But a sweet musical yielding
that aides me through the day
I feel this way about a JEEP with good music!!! :)!
Lol! Sounds great!
!!!!! 🙂 !!!!!
I might be mistaken for a dinosaur, but I’ll say it anyway: I cannot drive. I’m learning though. And I could use all the encouragement I can get. Your poem actually makes driving very attractive! I look forward to my tomorrow’s lesson 🙂
Ohhh!!! It is not too late to learn!!! Best wishes and much safety to you, Happy!!! Hen :)!!!
Growing up in a big city, and then living in Prague – again with all the trams, buses, metro, and walking everywhere – I never needed to drive. Now I have to learn. I hope I’ll enjoy it some day. Thank you for the kind wishes, Hen!
Prague, Wow. Happy driving!
Thanks, Benjamin!
Here’s another that i wrote today for Thursday’s Think Tank on “Strings,” but it sure sounds like travel to me and I thought you guys might like it. Feel free to read if so inclined. Smiles!
http://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2012/02/27/likely-than-not/
Oh, dear! This was supposed to be at the end of the thread, or at least that’s where I thought I was posting? 🙂
Hee, hee, it’s all gone HAYWIRE!!! :)!
Ha ha! 🙂 sure has, sometimes that’s good though, keeps us guessing!
Oh, Hannah, this is wonderful!!!
So sweet of you! Glad you like it, Hen! 🙂
“synaptic strings singing together” Now that’s poetry, Hannah!
Thank you, Sara!! So sweet of you! 🙂
George
When my GPS took my friend and I to Maine
We decided it needed a name.
Because of the female voice
We tried out girl names
But found ourselves singing
“Good morning, George, how are you?”
Every time we got in the car.
One day George stopped speaking
For no reason.
We played with the voice controls
And found that only one alternative voice worked.
It was a male voice.
We knew he was George all along.
This is funny!
Kind of reminds me of that murderous car from Stephen King’s novel… Be careful, don’t get George mad! 🙂
LOL!!!!!!!!!! Mine acts out like that too!!!
Very cute. We named our GPS, too…it’s a funny story that I might have to put in poetic form at some point.
Oh boy! Oh boy! Please do!!!
Cute poem, Lori! And Kelly, it would be only fitting for Chris to have a named GPS … too bad he doesn’t still have Connie The Car, the old beat up car in which he picked up Lesley Stahl from the airport! (Yes, THAT Lesley Stahl!) 🙂
Here’s another with a different tone:
Florida
Celebrating the end of one journey
With another
Accomplishing the miles in hours
Because I accomplished the knowledge in years
When I get back
It will be clock in times and documentation
And “State your name and date of birth”ing every time I give them meds.
But now
It is manta rays and Blue Men
And “Hello Mummy”ing every time the camera points at her.
When I go through all the footage,
I will ignore sea lions and rockets and paper mache castles
And I’ll pause on her
looking at me, wondering why
I keep saying hello.
Sweetness…
Very touching.
Orlando Vacation
My daughter and I did Orlando
after her college graduation.
Sea World, The Epcot Center,
Universal Studios, The Blue Man Group,
an Arabian Knight show.
The weather wasn’t warm
or cold, it was as if Florida
thought that the other states
would be jealous if it got too hot
so it made its guests
keep their sweaters on.
Decorated Christmas trees
stood by Micky Mouse shaped hedges.
Christmas carols played on loud speakers
giving it an other-worldly feeling.
By the time we headed east
toward the Kennedy Space Center,
we were exhausted and ready to go home.
We would have skipped it
if we hadn’t already purchased
the tickets. So glad we went.
The IMAX Hubbell Space program
was the highlight of the trip for me.
Truly looking at other worlds.
Feeling very small.
Overwhelmed, with the thought
that despite human puniness
God still loves us.
Not sure why my post landed where it did.
Bouncy- bouncy!! LOL! The system’s gone haywire!!! :)!!!
“…Truly looking at other worlds. Feeling very small. …God still loves us.” Wonderful!
A very comforting thought that is!
“Overwhelmed, with the thought
that despite human puniness
God still loves us.”
perfectly put and just what I needed to read…thank you!
Marie and Walt – you kicked us off in grand fashion! Marie, yours tugs at the heart with such poignancy but leaves room for hope – quite a feat. And Walt – my Dad, my Grandpa and my brother – all fascinated by trains and they passed it to me … great poem
Marie Elena: I am touched to the heart by the poem of your journey. I have made the same journey many times, once also in the middle of the night, to my son’s side, to breathe some hope and normalcy into his fear. I love the uplifting tone of your poem for, truly, that is the greatest gift we can impart to our kids: hope, and belief in better days. Beautiful poem, very touching, so glad I came across it here.
Sherry,
First of all, welcome to Poetic Bloomings!
Ironically, I was just over at your site, while you are here! So much beauty to be found on your site … photos and words … I could envision myself in your world quite nicely.
Thank you for your empathy. I’m sorry to hear you have been down a similar road, Sherry. It’s hard to watch someone you love with everything in you, struggle so frighteningly. Bless your heart. I wish you and your son well.
Discovering the Self in Selfish
In less than three days you can:
Ride the rails across a country as wide as a continent
And stay awake for most of it!
Constantly marvelling at where you live
And how you aren’t having a throw-down with
Your travelling companion.
You can also be brazen enough to read your poetry aloud
In a cafe you’ve never before entered
And in front of a group who are
As diverse as fingerprints
Who are also, as it happens, judging you
At least some of them, in the style of Olympic
Figure-skating judges, especially the Russian one
Who always seems to leave room
Which is why it’s best never to go first
In less than seventy-two short hours you can:
Be reunited with a dear friend,
And walk with her in the inky dark
Beneath a waning white globe of a moon
All the way downtown and back – safely.
You can also have several meaningful conversations
With your dear friend’s philosophically and politically attuned soul mate
Plus his enchanting partner and friend, another talented artist
Not to mention observe their two delightful daughters
maturing right before your aging eyes
You can share pictures of your daughter’s wedding
And give a set of prints from that remarkable “North Saskatchewan” day
to dear friend so that she will have memories to hold in her hand
As well as her heart
You can haunt many scenes of your childhood
And wonder at how unchanged most things appear
As well as revisit bad habits – at least briefly –
Smoke the odd cigarette – speed in the rental car,
with seeming competence, albeit reckless abandon
But without actual mania,
At least that’s what you tell yourself, and hope it’s true
You can finally make copies of your most recent published work
Assemble for presentation, feel good about that,
And leave same behind as thank-you gifts
In addition, you can pig-out on Hostess cupcakes
and your Aunt’s homemade brownies
even though you promised her and yourself you’d share…
Although it screws up your schedule,
you can take time for a long, hot,
self-indulgent bath in a huge claw-footed tub
And, go online, go online, go online
Plus journal, write poetry, read, repeat
Listen to “Fall Out Boy” especially, “This Ain’t a Scene”
And other cool nano songs…
In less than three days, you can
Discover your selfish self is a person
Not totally unlikable
Vow to stay in touch
And mean it.
S.E.Ingraham©
Oh, I LOVE this!!!
Thank you Hen!
As a Russian judge, I give you a 6.0!
I was soooo lucky H.A. – I was from out of town so the “sacrificial poet” (went first) and nobody marked me below 5.7 … thanks for the 6.0 tho’ !! Means even more coming from you!
🙂
This is fabulous work, Sharon.
Thank you – you’re very kind.
I LOVE “The Self in Selfish” very much – though the list of things done exhausts me…hee hee. I am a little confused by this site, in terms of where comments belong and where the most recent posts are. But will keep exploring:) I am intrigued.
Sherry, we haven’t quite decided whether the comments are following the prompt and taking little road trips of their own, or if they are taking leap year seriously and leaping about. 😉 It seems you are getting the hang of placing your comments where you want them. If you decide to post a poem, don’t be surprised if it hops, skips, and jumps. 😀
Hee, hee ! :)!
Vacation Roadie
As a child, the yellow
brick road beckoned;
I coveted the ruby slippers,
Toto, and the assorted
adventurers of steel, straw,
and lion fur.
The yellow road was paved
over with concrete; cement steps
leading to work. Sandwiched
in those early adult years, I basked
in the jazz, gumbo, and wrought
iron railings of New Orleans.
Followed up with the Waikiki
weather soaking the white beaches,
and frangipani of Hawaii.
In my fifties, I left part of my heart
in Venice, as we moved on
to Florence, Naples, Rome,
and the beauty and simplicity
of Ischia, strolling from one end
to the other, each block a treasure
of old churches, markets, and food.
Roads have been rough,
smooth, and sometimes
tarred and flat. May all
my roads lead always
to oceans.
SARA!!!! WONDERFUL!!! Yes! “May all my roads lead always to oceans.” :)!!!
Thanks, Hen.
I love it !! The ocean beckons you!
Thanks so much.
Beautiful, Sara!
Thanks, Hap!
What a lovely poem … especially love that all roads should lead to oceans … of course, they should
purplepeninportland, I, too, love these lines: may all roads lead to oceans.
Thanks, Sherry.
Marie and Walt, both of your poems are intense in entirely different ways…
Mini-vacation
There are no maps
To direct me
No highways to follow
No hills to climb
But I can find you
With my eyes closed
Destinies of the heart
Are traveled
Through the mind
I love ‘meeting’ all of you guys here. It’s like a vacation each time:)
Happy Trails to all!
Lovely, Janet!
Beautiful that people can be so close.
It’s so true, isn’t it Janet? There are those that you can find always – in the dark, blind even … and isn’t it wonderful? Great poem …
Janet, I always connect with your poems. It happened again this time!
Thank-you all for your thoughts…we seem so close here, no matter where in the word we are!
Yes, lovely… “I can find you with my eyes closed.”
That says so much in just a few words…
I’m sorry…somehow my posting posted in the middle of comments??? It should be below the comments:)
No worries….. the postings are bouncing around everywhere this time :!!!
:)!!!!!
ON THE ROAD WITH THE SHEPHERD
as I pass through a dark valley
behind me are yesterdays
I long for, but will never come again;
the road in front of me
stretches further than my reach;
today, the journey that awaits
is one I must take
I am not alone
after a sleepless night
the early morning air lays softly
like a cold compress on a tired soul;
the pre-dawn traffic, quieted,
hours driving alone
bring silence, stillness and peace
my soul is refreshed
on the far horizon is a sliver of daylight
between the dark earth below
and the storm clouds above,
causing me to remember
there is order in chaos,
safety in storms, and solace in trouble
the Lord is my Shepherd
2012-02-27
P. Wanken
* with a couple phrases borrowed from a friend
Love this, Paula.
Paula, breath-taking images here. Just beautiful.
What a comforting, peaceful poem … very nice.
“…there is order in chaos, safety in storms, and solace in trouble
the Lord is my Shepherd” — Oh, He takes me to such a serene place at times like that… this is when I KNOW that I am not all alone!
Beautiful.
Thank you, all….that morning I wrote about was the morning after I learned of my father’s death and made a long 12-hour trek “to say goodbye.” There was no other explanation for being able to make that drive except that the solace I needed that morning was granted in abundance.
*hugs*
Paula
Ohhh, my condolences….. and I am so glad His strength found you!
Pingback: On the Road With the Shepherd « echoes from the silence
Every time my family visits any of the well-known theme parks, my husband’s constant refrain, upon exiting a ride is, “Did I mention the merchandising? As a nod to him, here is my attempt at a Kyrielle Va-Cay Poem…
Souvenirs
We visited a famed theme park.
We rode the rides ‘til after dark.
When exiting each ride device
we had to face the merchandise.
Attractions have their brands and themes
which vendors take to big extremes
which we then buy at thrice the price.
So…did I mention…the merchandise?
And characters, we noted, grace
each t-shirts and hand-painted face
of patrons they want to entice.
And…did I mention the merchandise?
Vacationers from far-off spheres
recall their trips with souvenirs.
And ‘though these words should but suffice…
we can’t forget the merchandise.
###
“Money makes the world go round!” 🙂
Ka-ching! 😀
I enjoyed this. The meter was great and the subtance so true!
Thanks! ♥
My poem ended up as a bit of an emotional road trip, but I still think it fits. Was able to tie it up with a couple of other prompts as well (love it when that happens!)
Seeking an Answer
Her search for an answer
Took her beyond the edges of the map,
Down roads paved with more questions.
Grief is her companion on this trip,
A cumbersome stray dog
That never quite sheds its feral nature.
The murmur of reluctant voices
Pelt her senses,
Silent taunts that only cement her resolve.
The dense smoke of days gone by
Waft around her,
Seeping through her cracks,
Obscuring the view rushing by her window,
Masking her constant pain.
Grief invites her
To drink of his sorrows,
To lose herself in despair.
She refuses the distraction,
Continuing her search for an answer,
Still questioning how
The man who so easily entranced her
Could slip so easily from her life.
I cannot comprehend how you combined prompts, but you did it seamlessly. Love it.
Mary – what a poignant clever word-road-trip you’ve made here … it tugged my heart-strings and my tear-ducts – quite a feat, I’d say …
my wordle’s here:
http://aleapingelephant.blogspot.com/2012/02/last-wolf.html
A great poem, Mary.
Thanks for your comment and I love you emotional road trip. We have all taken that tour and you described it brilliantly.
Thanks so much for the kind words 🙂 I’m still amazed by where those wordle words take me every week, so glad it ended up being a little road trip this time around.
Marie and Walt, As always, I am in awe of both you guys. Truly inspiring poems.
Roadblock or Dead End
Roads of hope and regret merge today.
A trailblazer I am not,
but a travel guide, I hoped to be.
A path I helped forge is being paved by others
with different ideals and ideas.
So, I stepped off.
I watch in sadness as my dreams and goals
are pushed aside by loud, obnoxious
steamrollers with self-indulged plans and
little regard for others coming up the trail.
I hoped to create a smooth course with
well-marked signs and directions,
where you could find your way in comfort
and familiarity. Instead, I find myself
wondering where I made a wrong turn.
I think the steamrollers are not as numerous as they seem, they are just loud. Keep to your path, no wrong turns made.
My feelings exactly; hang in there, Kelly.
Kelly, I don’t know what you are referring to here, but my heart and prayers are with you. ❤
As with others, sorry my post landed in the middle of comments. 😦
Pursuit
I followed you relentlessly for I desired to possess you.
You tantalized my dreams and pervaded my thoughts.
Such a breathtaking vision, you seemingly flitted from path to path.
You were as elusive as a butterfly and I lost my direction in pursuit of you.
Dusk came and I wearily paused from my arduous and unfruitful journey.
My lethargy caused me to rest amidst the fragrant moonflowers.
I reflected in the soitude of the panoramic twilight sky.
Perceiving that you had paused in your flight too, I embraced you.
Running I could not capture you, but upon meditation you were mine.
Oh Wisdom, you are unexcelled in beauty, and I regret I hurried so long.
Iris this is beautiful. Great job. 🙂
Thank you Benjamin. I tarry more as I am approaching my “Golden Years.” I have found wisdom is not found in the running, but in the stillness of listening. Thanks for your encouragement.
Your’re welcome. Its mutual.
I think their is some invisible electric current that flows between each poet.
A beautiful allegory.
Thanks Happy. I am glad you liked it because it was fun writing it. I enjoy irony.
Oh, lovely…
Thank you Henrietta. I enjoyed yours also and so many others, but am not commenting on poems because the comments are so astray.
What is able to leap tall columns in a single bound? comments on Poetic Bloomings
LEAP YEAR!!!
Yes, this is beautiful, Iris. And WELCOME!!
Thank you Marie. I used to enjoy reading you and Walt’s lovely poetry and lively discussions on April and November Poetic Aside challenges, so I decided to begin blooming. It is beginning to look like spring and my name is Iris after all. lol. I think I will enjoy this group very much. Thanks for the invite.
I THOUGHT that was you! There aren’t all that many Iris’s around, and I figured you are the one whose work I’ve enjoyed at P.A. So lovely to have you here!
Ditto! From the “other half”.
Thanks Walt. I am glad I came over. Awesome poems and fun site.
Simply stunning!
Thanks Purple. You guys have made my day!!!!
submitted by my writing partner, Ely the Eel…
Dawn
Driving down the winding blue highway
from Beaumont to Hemet,
looking out at the San Jacinto valley,
the westernmost mountains to the left,
the car-filled plain to the right,
not another soul on his road,
he marveled at the complex dawn,
so many layers, varied tones, even textures,
black becoming purple begetting rose
before the sun took its first glimpse of the ocean.
Sunset gets all the press, he thought,
probably, like the early Beatles,
due to advance agents.
Oh, sunset has its own virtues,
if one likes that garish kind of thing,
beach goers gathering in hoards,
oohing and ahing,
pretending to see a green flash,
quickly dispersing to watered down happy hours.
Dawn gets little notice, few raves,
a shame, really, but also a saving grace.
It might not be the same
If the press got a sniff of it,
people setting alarms, gathering in roadside view areas,
flipping down their shades at the first sign of yellow,
probably adding some kind of Bloody Mary rite to it.
No, let the dawn stay hidden,
a gift for the early risers ,
those who pull over and write an ode to its beauty..
This is truly a gift – dawn. A very nice poem.
Yes….. and you should see its loveliness, from an airline window, as it rises above a blanket of clouds…
Sure makes flying a bit more pleasurable for me… I’d rather watch the sunrise or sunset standing firmly on the ground, though 🙂
Oh, I know, me too! :)!
Not sure what is happening with the comments. Seems they have taken the prompt to heart, and are taking road trips of their own. 😉
Thank you for not letting it hinder your comments. Loving the camaraderie as much as the poetry!
Marie Elena
blame it all on Ely, M.E….he has a way of messing with cyberspace…I think he needs to get help from some 10-year olds
😉 !
!LOL! :)!
So much fun here!
WHERE THE ROAD LEADS
A wanderer of nomadic existence,
I’ve always had this insistence to keep my feet
in motion; no grass grows where fools tread.
Instead of being the nobody home body,
I tend to follow my heart, for no matter
when I start, it always comes full circle.
All roads lead to where your soul resides,
and when found, I comfort and hide
every ill this thrilling life inflicts.
No map can direct, nor guidance system find,
your co-ordinates are impressed upon my mind.
This happy gypsy is always glad to find you.
Your poem and Janet’s echo each other beautifully! It’s like they respond to one another.
They certainly do, don’t they? Nice!
“your co-ordinates are impressed upon my mind” – wonderful image
Bring It Back Empty
It was one of those itsy-bitsy
foreign jobs;
the car rental girl told us
such a good deal –you pay for a full tank
at the airport, at a greatly reduced rate—
Then, you can return it
empty, if you want.
We drove it all over
the Salt Spring Islands, plus
throughout Vancouver, Victoria,
then back to Vancouver …
And never put an ounce
of gas in her
A week later, heading back
to the airport,
with the needle…
very much on “E”,
We both laughed remembering
a comedian who joked
that he thought,
the ‘E’ meant, “enough to get home on”
We decided we’d risk our ‘E’ was,
“enough to get to the airport on”
Holding our breath, driving through
Vancouver’s rush-hour traffic—
Especially every time we were stuck
on a bridge— had us oxygen-deprived
and giddy by the time we got
to the airport parkade.
We had just pulled into the place,
Could actually see “Budget’s”
big orangey-red sign
when the little car coughed once,
Then gave up the ghost ..
That is to say, she died completely.
As if choreographed:
My husband got out
I slid into the driver’s seat
and put the car in neutral
My husband rolled up his sleeves,
and pushed us to Budget’s lane
Two rental agents,
and a manager, came running
out of the terminal
looking very upset,
“Omigod – what’s wrong – is it broken?”
and variations of this theme, were expressed.
My husband straightened,
dusted off his hands, said dryly,
as he handed over the keys,
“You said to bring it back empty—
we’ve been driving around for hours…
Our estimation was slightly off,
and for that I do apologize…”
S.E.Ingraham©
LOL!!!!! :)!!!!!
Now that I’ve seen a picture of you two together, smiling, so happy – I picture this car scene even more vividly! What fun! “…for that I do apologize…” – great!
Love it – what a great picture!
Thanks all – this is pretty much how it happened … glad it tickled your collective funny bones …
Add my funny bone in there, Sharon! HOW FUN IS THIS!!
North Dakota
Driving down long stretches touchng the sky
Fields of canola greet you from the side
Beaming yellow smiles as you pass them by
No more cars in sight, looking far and wide
Plain, but North Dakota does have its Pride
Helping businesses market their fine wares
Soaps, candles, berry jams, cards, barn wood chairs
A land of Sioux and Teddy Roosevelt
Unique rock formations and teddy bears
Its strong, enduring spirit clearly felt
Hi Connie,
Hooray for North Dakota! Never been there but I’ve just took a mental journey through your poem. Thx.
Oh, wonderful, I must visit!!!
Late to the party. So fun to see such a huge number of responses! 🙂 No time to read yet, but here’s mine:
Open Road
The numbers on the signs
are all getting smaller
burning in our headlights
on this harsh and hazy highway.
The cornstalks in the fields
are all getting taller;
hope hovers in their shadows
as we brave this broken byway.
The odometer says we’ve got
a thousand miles to go
and we pray there will be shelter
when we finally arrive.
Our hearts are harried, worn
and our tanks are running low;
is there somewhere else to go?
We ponder, as we drive.
How funny. It posted me several places up, instead of at the bottom. Wonky week for the Bloom?
Our RETCH-ed Trip (misspelling intentional)
Employee of the year won a trip to Nassau.
Limousine ride it did include.
Suitcase contents all over the tarmac
was just the start of what ensued.
From a paradise peddler we bought a great “dinner cruise”
while we soaked up the sun on the beach.
Two teetotalers aboard a “rum runner”
cruise; no dinner, just drinks within reach!
We followed the sun as far west as we could,
but then rocks jutted out in our way.
We snorkeled two minutes in the colorful reef,
until under us swam a stingray.
Our final meal there, did not taste quite right,
This getaway wasn’t much fun
But now we can laugh about the limo ride home
and the stops due to food poison!
Oh my…..
VACATE?
Vacate?
Yes, I oftentimes wish
to go astray, to go amiss
to disappear, to vaporize
to quickly vanish
from every eye
undercover and in disguise
like secret agents and sly spies
to abruptly thin
and become a mist
momentarily I don’t exist
Gas up the car honey
let’s hit the road
grab the kids
and we’ve got a load
Pop in a CD
recline the seat
inhale the fresh morning dew
sweet rolling Amish hills
here we come!
Vacate?
Get lost and go amiss?
Yes! Now that would be interstate bliss.
Loved the word play in “Vacate?”
Hee, hee, how FUN is that….. family road trip!!!
Testing comment placement.
Testing commenting on comments placement.
test 4. Walt is conducting an experiment on this comment fiasco. This reply will appear in various places throughout and I will log the time of each posting to monitor their placement to see if there is a pattern to the madness. Thanks for flagging this situation. Walt.
test 5. Walt is conducting an experiment on this comment fiasco. This reply will appear in various places throughout and I will log the time of each posting to monitor their placement to see if there is a pattern to the madness. Thanks for flagging this situation. Walt.
TRAVELLING
Comments posted here and there.
First they’re here, then they’re there.
Nested in a jagged string
comments are the damnedest thing.
But when they should be here, they’re there.
When I want them there, they’re here not there.
So where will they appear whence next I send them?
LOL!!! Hey guys, it’s LEAP year; what did we expect!!!
HA!! Never thought of that, Hen! 😀
And Walt, you are such a hoot!
!!!!!! 🙂 :)!!!
~ To Walt and Marie ~
From there to here, from here to there,
It might seem frustrating, but don’t despair:
Those technical problems that drive you insane
Are reason for us to come back once again,
And read, and reread, and rethink, and explore…
So, while your heart’s sinking, “What else is in store?”
And while you’re wrestling with comments galore,
We travel – and treasure – the thread even more!
HAHAHAHA! Too cute!! Thanks much!!
You are very welcome, thank YOU! 🙂
OH YES!!!!!
I will fling this comment to the wind…it may land anywhere it pleases because I am simply enjoying everyone’s vacation experiences. How we love them all. the good, the bad and the ugly.
Walt and Marie…just laugh and go with it! It’s okay…really!
Hang in there!
Love it!!! :)!
*gigglesnort!*
Ready or Not, Here I Go
Travelling at the speed of life
ready or not, here I go.
Not everything falls as it should
it would be good, but ready or not,
here I go again, jumping in feet first.
It could get worse if I were the man
with a plan but I can stand to think
on my feet from time to time. In my mind,
I’m ready. But even if I’m not…here I go.
How we got to Vegas
Looking back on it, we might have
thought twice before bringing a kid
blessed with agoraphobia
thirteen hours to the Grand Canyon.
It just never occurred to us.
Looking back on it, we might have
noticed the first signs of distress
when he stopped in the parking lot
at the South Rim and turned around,
striding away from the view, not
looking back at it. We might have
forced him to stay, but why go there?
Nature’s overrated, I said.
Let’s go to Vegas. So we did.
Did we have the best time ever?
Looking back on it, we might have!
I so enjoy direct, to-the-point poetry! Really liked “How we got to Vegas”.
Good for you, Andrew!
🙂 Wonderful!
This delights me, Andrew–both the flowing words, and the charming story. I hope the kid appreciates his parents!
(A TROLAAN – well, maybe)
TWO-SEATER WITH ORGANIC COFFEE
Early morning meandering thru
endless, misty, coastal meadowland.
Entranced with the warmth and feel of you,
enveloped together, holding hands.
Always comfort, encapsulated:
A Roadster-smooth-jazz Sunday drive
and music/heart strings modulated,
an engine purring, then roaring alive.
Lovely bakery along the way
laughing at sugary, crumbling pie.
Living this friendship that’s never strayed,
leading our hearts on our Loving ride.
On the road…..together again,
only depth and miles behind us.
Ohh…..so missing you, my friend,
only…if…you could just…unwind us.
Oh Gosh! I love this. the coffee flavor enriches the landscape! I enjoy such a friendship as well, Hen. 🙂
Thank you, Janet! Yes, profound friendships are rare. 🙂
Henrietta,
Loved your title and the following lines.
“Always comfort, encapsulated:
A Roadster-smooth-jazz Sunday drive” and “early morning meandering”. Yes I agree most road trips are very lovely in the early morning meanderings in your roadster! Especially with coffee!
Oh… so… YES!!! :)!!!
Mount Kilimanjaro
You didn’t tell me,
Though I came right away
When you told me
That they would take us
To the summit of
Mount Kilimanjaro
We climb now
Past the shadows
Flickering with wildebeest
And skulking hyena
Away from their whimpering
Childish cries
Above the moody landscape
Of burnt grass and bamboo slopes
Golden-red in the pining sun
Past the stench of rotting carcasses
To the coveted top
Of Mount Kilimanjaro
How I wanted to see it
That white square
Transforming to a coral sea
As the sun sets
Above a layered landscape
Of muted blue and green
You told me once
That something foreign
Occupied the space in you
Once filled with life
…but you didn’t tell me
You came up here
To Mount Kilimanjaro
To die
Janet
I was stunned the first time I read Hemingway’s
The Snow’s of Kilimanjaro.
No, I have never climbed this mountain, but I would like to:)
WOW!!! (Oh, and I thought you had indeed climbed it!) 🙂 Hen
FISHERMAN’S PARADISE
My
dad
loved to
fish mountain
streams, clear icy
water, milky blue-
grey and knee-deep with trout.
A fisherman’s paradise
he’d say. We’d pack the car with tins
of food, drinks, the tent and sleeping bags,
and drive east toward the rising sun.
Into the mountains, narrow roads,
gorges steep and slick with moss
until we’d reach fisherman’s
paradise where we’d
pitch the tent and
wait for Dad
to bring
us
fish.
LOL! “…and wait for Dad to bring us fish.” Wonderful memories!
Why is the timeline here completely farkled-up? My post just landed in the midst of a different thread of messages?
See all the above comments, MM. They leaped around this time. 🙂