For Angela Voras- Hills
As work inches along the highway you’ll
be standing next to a field the breeze a song only
you’ll hear as it whispers but you remember
life’s a song your life a collage of all the
experiences your heart holds such joy
to behold as the season passes as the
passing sun bleeds into the sky as the days
slip from your hands but that’s the way it goes
as your hold your sign as moments go by
and a voice in your head says it is so
now an open road as a car rushes by fast.
You’ll only remember the joy the days go by so fast.
a line from a poem by Angela Voras-Hills.
Categories:
flagging, appreciation, autumn, beauty, nature,
Form: Other
The dryer hums,
and my clothes are drying.
It rained earlier, but now
the sun is peering through clouds.
As I awaken, the morning is still.
I sit at a table in the front room
and it creaks.
When sifting through my poetic lines
I remember that each day
begins with a whisper.
I remember that around each turn
in the highway lies a surprise.
My thoughts turn to my days as a flagger
as if it is a previous life.
I remember
when there was one lane road
I turned my sign to control
the flow of traffic.
Some people I stopped
waved and smiled,
but in time I learned how
to let them go.
Each evening after work
I’d write a poem
and the librarian at the front desk
was a confidant, a friend.
They’d always offer praise
of how I could make a page come alive
while my fingers danced over the keys.
But now the quiet side street
in front of the house is broken.
I’ve called Public Works
but some things never change.
Now I’m back home
and learning to live again.
As a bird flies past my window
I think I’ll heat some leftovers
and go for a drive.
Categories:
flagging, age, home, memory, metaphor,
Form: Free verse
Wispy clouds pass like dreams
over cornfields near the shoulder
of a highway where I stand.
I have many homes, but here
in Sigourney I’m staying for the week
to control traffic in the countryside.
The farms that lie along the road
each have a story to tell,
and each day I talk to the clerk
at the hotel and show her a poem.
The clerk says she’s getting
another job at a nursing home,
and we’re drawn together
when we say we’ve both known
people who had dementia and died.
I tell her on a clear day
I can look to the south
and see the place
where the spread of fields
touches the sky.
This day, the skies grow heavy
when draped by dark clouds
and a linesman says
a storm is on the way
and I think of how fast
life can change in a matter
of hours,
but we continue to work
under a patter of rain
and later hear a tornado
formed south of us
and tore through
the north part of Missouri,
we’re saved.
After work I savor
conversations with the clerk
and the waitress in a diner
who says she’s married
and living on a farm,
the friendships I needed
while working on the road.
Categories:
flagging, adventure, friendship, metaphor, travel,
Form: Narrative
Shook up shaking
the bigot tree
loose nuts crushing
they them me
crosses bashing
crosshair fit
I should know better
but I just can’t quit.
Categories:
flagging, angst, prejudice,
Form: Rhyme