I'm
I'm singular.
I'm night-driving.
With vibrant hum
of standard speed.
I'm glowing of dashboard.
Utterances of am talk
alien abductees and remote viewing.
Barely diverts my musing.
I night-drive
periodically.
A rite of wanting
Control, of the wheel.
Arm out window
night air cooling me.
Headlight on blacktop.
A yellow metronome.
This nights topic , I'm.
A question proposed,
by a small man in robes.
I started the list:
I'm a modern Tom Sawyer
an ebb-and-flow.
I'm this psycho-manic jester.
Dharma junkie, with subjects.
I'm Charlie Brown on acid
but who love the dog.
I'm a skin head hippie.
A guy with no wrist watch.
I'm a independent film critic
speaks religiously of Fight Club.
I'm these and other clever observation.
I stopped at a neon diner for tools of thought:
Coffee, pen, paper, and consumers of isolation.
Filling a page of I'm
looking for a singular
a true answer.
Just finding personas
and learned traits.
It came to me this I'm.
While leaving the tip.
In my wallet a picture of my children
looking full of me.
. for public domain
Dominus Vobiscum
Adopted ways, to thrive in paschal, wooded glens,
and manners, to honor pristine water,
pass through our generations to their end,
pass away like a long forgotten friend.
Calloused hands, now unsoiled from soil and seed,
washed clean and softened, no longer find need
to raise a chalice in celebration.
Bread and wine no longer feed a nation.
New ways, new manners, distilled from sullied seas,
new grains of seed, born from modified abductees,
prepare to send new life to outer space.
God go with them, and with them, Heaven's Grace.
A gentle breeze,
rustling dried leaves,
now quietly at ease.
I set down upon fallen trees.
Elbows resting on knees
lungs strained, I wheeze.
I had run from the abductees
of ones youth with unease.
One looks around and sees
childhood trees,
climbed with buddies,
now dead or diseased.
Others also escaped times freeze
from a picture of static memories.
Everything’s time comes no mater the pleas.
Head in hands, breathing more at ease
I look round again, suddenly pleased.
As I look at grounds dead leaves,
one sees the forests new inductees.
Saplings, I count by the threes,
along with them more, slightly older attendees,
of this forest. Young life in vast quantities.
Now I’m relaxed and can now foresee,
someone climbing grown saplings with glee.
Remembering that day of youth in all degrees.
To come back and realize that time will never freeze.
I'm singular.
I'm night-driving.
With vibrant hum
of standard speed.
I'm glowing of dashboard.
Utterances of am talk
alien abductees and remote viewing.
Barely diverts my musing.
I night-drive
periodically.
A rite of wanting
Control, of the wheel.
Arm out window
night air cooling me.
Headlight on blacktop.
A yellow metronome.
This nights topic , I'm.
A question proposed,
by a small man in robes.
I started the list:
I'm a modern Tom Sawyer
an ebb-and-flow.
I'm this psycho-manic jester.
Dharma junkie, with subjects.
I'm Charlie Brown on acid
but who love the dog.
I'm a skin head hippie.
A guy with no wrist watch.
I'm a independent film critic
speaks religiously of Fight Club.
I'm these and other clever observation.
I stopped at a neon diner for tools of thought:
Coffee, pen, paper, and consumers of isolation.
Filling a page of I'm
looking for a singular
a true answer.
Just finding personas
and learned traits.
It came to me this I'm.
While leaving the tip.
In my wallet a picture of my children
looking full of me.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.