Anger-fueled words flare out of his mouth
like blue flames
I can feel the energy darken and turn cold
I sit silently
keeping my eyes locked downward,
absorbing every atom of hatred
that forms the sharp sounds being emitted.
I try not to show how uncomfortable I am
instead, I stare at the hypnotic,
damaging radiation waves
bellowing invisibly from the light of my phone screen,
pretending not to be affected by the unnecessary
vulgarities spouting from his ego.
in less than an instant,
the vibes go from comfortably chill
to anxiously wishing I was anywhere
but in this passenger seat.
every sentence carves a new scar
into my already damaged soul
as my brain categorizes each word
where it rightfully belongs.
I’m grateful for my oversized sunglasses
that hide my wincing eyes—
until I catch him looking sideways at me.
I solemnly mutter something about it being rush hour,
trying to become as small as my body will let me be.
I hope it seems like I’m too engulfed
in whatever stupid game I'm playing
to notice the short-fused flip-outs
that now happen every single time
we're in the car.
Yellow leaves flash the window,
a fringe on the green,
too early for the tourists,
the peaks still serene,
been aching to escape from
telephones and cubicles,
only noise is my own thoughts
so meandering and dull.
Just the wind as it’s blowing
my hair all around,
the wild turkeys scatter
at the engine sound,
people say that I wander,
they all say I’m wasting gas,
sitting there watching football
to make the afternoons pass.
But the air and the silence
brings peace to my mind,
or maybe I just glimpse it
stolen piece of time.
I know the trees don’t feel so,
know that they don’t feel a thing,
just illusions on the thoughts
of a tired and caged thing.
Got no task that needs doing,
no weight on the nerves,
no social obligations,
just time well-deserved,
some say that it is aimless,
so I guess they know the truth,
but so then is their worry,
and I do not need them too.
All the echoes and the empty,
the bucolic scene,
just speaks to the point of it,
it just lets me be.
No reason I justify,
nothing I must account for,
existence for its own sake,
if just a few hours more…
summers heat turns cool
warm apple cider fills air
autumn blossoms
On starry, moonlit nights
Or those pitch black ...
These are the roads ...
I drive forth and back
My tailights and headlights
Go rolling through the mist,
Scattering newly dead leaves
With a turn of my wrist
Fenders ruffle the wildflowers
That grow high by summer's end,
Brushing them with wind ...
As I go sailing 'round the bend
The fog through my fingers flows
Cool, damp almost eerie to feel,
Sends a shiver along my bones
With one hand on the wheel
Time, it disappears out here
Old songs on the radio,
All around spin tones of gray
Driving as fast as she can go
Between midnight and morning
A lonesome hour for some,
Here you'll find an empty seat
If another soul wants to come.
On late nights and early mornings,
I could count on fog in December.
I could count on poor visibility.
I could count on driving timidly.
I could count on trailing a big rig.
Like following 'the yellow brick road',
I could count on the big red tail lights.
It was the safest place to drive in fog.
I could count on motorists driving carelessly.
I could count on asking, "How can they see?"
Don’t call me when you’re driving
Any text I sent can wait
Leave it ‘til you’re parked up
(Even if you’re running late)
You’re excused for not responding
You can break any other rule
Cause shenanigans and mayhem
Create havoc, it’s all cool
Pranks, arson, theft or lies
I’d forgive anything you do
You’re off the hook, no question
Just because you’re you
Get up to mischief all day long
I’ll forgive your sass, I swear
But don’t you call me when you’re driving.
I mean it. Don’t you dare.
The things I'd resort to
when I thought to please her
I've since been taught not to be
a top of the toothpaste tube squeezer
no longer dog-earing pages
of books I'm reading
and only go slow when driving
no more speeding
but it's all in vain
as nothing gets by
no matter what I do
or how hard I try
as whatever the option
it's always her choice
it's almost as though
I have no voice
yet truly do my very best
but in the end I'm really sunk
so much for best intentions
may as well be a monk
My experience learning to drive was possibly lack of confidence. As iI went to a driving school; three months, not every day. Nor with friends or companion. I never knew if I would be a good or bad driver. My instructor,
only pointed to the things I didn't know. One of which was the parking brake.
That is crucial to know in driving. My guess is that I either needed more time
behind the wheel; daily or time to get over my fear. Too late! At any rate, I can't now, I'm 82, and time to get off the road.
I don't think I was given the ability of alertness. One needs to have that. I can't ride a bike or skate either. However, I am very creative.I can paint or draw by coloing. Write books and poetry; assemble greeting cards. This takes particular attention to the brain. So, although I can't do mobile object things, I can do something, that brings people closer together.
a simple right turn
we end up in a ditch
where did he go wrong?
Red dirt
Red barns
Red rooves
Holding up
Daytime stars
layered clouds like mountains.
blond and green grass blowing.
single tumbleweed tossing
across highway; Dakota wind
crossing its eyes, slamming
wide open driver's side door.
grinning on prairie grass
at illumination's waving,
and dark ponds’ rippling.
arriving in Sioux Falls safely.
The warning stands tall
Yellow diamond of dread
Stones tumble toward the surf.
Watch the ocean cliffs
Brake before the rubble strikes
Safe past crashing waves below.
In the early 80's,
Before the internet
And before the mass usage
Of hand held telephones;
On a clear and sunny day;
On a southwest bound freeway,
Not far from the Golden Gate Bridge,
One motorist angrily shouted to another
Motorist, "That's crazy!" The other motorist
Was quick to reply by saying, "You're right!"
Such verbal interaction occurred because
One driver became irate as he observed
Another driver reading a book while driving.
It should be noted that not all highway rages
Are created equally. Some end peacefully.
The reading motorist immediately complied
With the angry driver's suggestion and changed
His reading habits.
Being bad when we should be good
grew up as kids playing childish games
running round the neighbourhood
calling each other silly names
having fun in my beat up car
went out as teens dating weekend nights
driving down the boulevards
looking at the bright city lights
must have been blind and didn't know
who it was I was looking for
'til I went all around the whole wide world
to find you the girl next door
way back when
we were the best of friends
and now
childhood sweethearts is what we are
after all we've come so far
childhood sweethearts mi amor
together now and for ever more
traffic
sometimes a rush
other times sitting still
everyone is in a hurry
waiting
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