I-95, I-80, I-78 or Route 1
Destined schedule with luggage
The journey
The start
The Distance
Long haul ride
Recline and Relax
Rest stops
Destined Towns and Major Cities
High Mountains
The uphill and downhill range
Highways to off ramps
Panoramic scenery
Towns people wave
Feeling of welcome
America’s history reflecting back
4 Days in Hours, Minutes and Seconds
Life thought of reckon
Observe and admire
Sunrise to sundown
The journey on until
Arrival to Destined finale
The educate and Learn
Hounding the Greyhound bus gateway
The ride a getaway.
(Sunstones sunrise, 2024)
Sunstones
We head off into the middle of nowhere
To spend a night at Sunstones rock hounding site.
The afternoon sun beats down
As we wander around the desert
Looking for something to keep.
Like so many before us we scour the ground.
But without much expectation
Just being here is good enough.
And it’s a metaphor for something bigger
And much more profound.
If you don’t try to find and possess the perfect jewel
You can appreciate instead being surrounded
By millions of tiny gems
Each sparkling brilliantly in the light
And recognize this very ground as a pure land.
(5/12/24)
He wanted to rest. She wanted to pester.
His eyes closed. She yelled “Lester!”
The garage door needs fixing, she began to fester.
He was getting tired of his wife, Old Ester.
Can I please have a tiny bit of peace?
She asked if he had yet signed the lease.
He was exhausted from an eight-hour day.
She wanted him to work; he wanted to play.
He grabbed the remote and clicked on the TV.
She began to bug him rather incessantly.
She wanted him to mow the lawn or clean his car.
She was no longer his girlfriend, a shining star.
She had become a chore, a drudge, a hounding hag.
He wanted to get away, in a car that could drag.
He left the house, pretending to go get a cigarette.
That was twenty-six years ago, and he is not back yet.
From the egg comes the Prince,
He’s got a long way to go,
He can only become King,
When the Prince has to go
It’s in his darkness that he learns to grow,
From the seed to the tree,
How big can he be?
He looks up, he looks down,
His balance, the middle ground
He must go back to the egg,
To release the hound,
Only then, the King can be found
Dismount, the horse is dead I say.
He keeps blathering on,
Saying things to bring me down
Tries to lasso me with negativity
Annoyed that I have retained my idealism
Angry at my optimism
Wanting to smear my joy on the floor of the barn.
I smell the hay and the manure
Still I will not relent
Dismount, the horse is dead, I say.
The sky does not fall.
Chicken Little’s voice is silenced.
The blathering keeps coming.
Perpetual ugliness; trying to pull me down.
The rope misses my head by days.
I gallop into the corral, determined to retain myself.
He chases after me, attempting to wipe off my smiles.
Wanting tears to come out of my eyes.
I laugh until I cry, infuriating him.
Dismount, I yell. The horse is dead!
Lost within the corridors of my mind,
With no end in sight,
I panicked in fright,
For shadows hound,
And the ground groans,
Were must I go,
To and fro
My mind gos,
What is this madness,
Infecting,
Spreading,
My mind runs away from me,
Oh god the shadows hound,
running me into the ground.