I dilly dally my way through a regular Monday
Icy rain covers my driveway by three o’clock
I slip and slide on it, weather reports come in
Monster storm is coming; the kind you get once in a century
My friends begin calling me
Do I have enough food and water?
I have enough to last six to eight months.
Also a hundred pounds of dog food for my two pony dogs.
Tuesday I awake to snow as tall as my porch
It is not bitter cold, but it is uncomfortably cold.
Wednesday is the kicker.
We are supposed to have more snow, more ice and fifty mile an hour winds.
My feet are cold tonight; I wonder how things will go in the morning.
Our temperature is going to drop from 28 to 16 degrees.
The interstates and highways around and through Kansas City are closed.
Mayor asks us to all stay home; schools are cancelled.
The electric company sent us a notice to expect outages.
Monster storm, you deserve a name.
I will call you Monster Helen after the meanest teacher I ever had
And the nicest teacher I ever had, both named Helen.
I live for that feeling of complete
weightlessness, when we speed
down back roads lined with corn
fields and rolling grasslands that
stretch all the way to the foot of
the mountains.
I would tighten my arms around
his waist as the speedometer
touched 140mph. We zoomed
through the darkness like
screaming demons on two wheels.
The sky peeled away like a
panoramic screen unraveling
past us.
I drank up the crisp air, I
saturated myself in adrenaline
like a junkie. It was just the
two of us, phantoms of the
night, spirits of the asphalt,
our souls aligning with the
road beneath us.
No one could possibly catch us.
Dedicated to the ride, locking
pinky promises with the highways
and interstates, always swearing
to return, to meet again with the
meditative route.
To me this is much more than a
form of transportation, it's a
lifestyle, a way to soak up your
pure bliss, a form of peace and
harmony. It's being born to ride.
WHERE I AM!
“Where am I?” I ask,
an aging citizen in a small cold place
in Upstate New York
…..but my fellow citizens
in the suburban towns have
given up on my City and its
proud but struggling peoples,
they want to slink in and work
then flee as fast as the Interstates
will allow….but I want to live
in a work of art in progress,
participate in the unfolding of
faith, opportunity, good work
rewarded not only with money,
property and the pursuit of
happiness, but with the spiritual
fulfillment of taking care of
one another……..
Yesterday, the afternoon high was nine degrees,
it was bright and sunny, I shoveled the snow, said
a prayer of thanksgiving for the place where I
live, knowing my wife was waiting
inside, knowing I was blessed and
always have been!
The land of paths interwine
Curving around a bent fork's tine
Run Interstates straight as a spine
While backroads weave in and out of the pines
Through God's country rolls highway number nine
Snaking the mountain like a kuduz vine
And in between those lines
Wraps the air that feels greater than fine
A perfect blend of salt to sugar brine
Fried chicken and watermelon red ripe to the rind
Atop granny's quilt bare feet dine
Skin warmed by the slant of sunshine
The quintessential southern combine
Rare is this kind of divine
A wholly sky with stars align
Unnecessary is any type of redesign
All the water has turned to wine
Anything and everything one can opine
Without fear of being judged asinine
A saturated love breaking what confines
What has befell onto us?
What is happening to us?
What are our problems?
Who can answer?
We are Africans.
Africa of great fortune.
We should live as one.
Not as two.
We are ourselves.
Fear, not foreigners,
Irrespective of their race.
We are ourselves.
Our hero's effort must not be sleeveless.
Let's be ourselves.
Egalitarianism must continue.
Africa my Africa.
Tribalism, societal conflicts, interstates' conflicts,
Must stop.
Fear, not foreigners.
United we stand, divided we fall.
Alimi Abdulkabir's Poetry
Snowmaggedon
My son called last night
Hey pop, just checkin’ in
Have you been watching tv
Wanted to make sure you know
That it’s Snowmageddon tomorrow
Hurricane speed wind bursts
Blizzard conditions on the roads
So please tell me you’re staying home
I had the momentary flash of
Being a young dude driving
Cross country interstates alone
Or sometimes with friends
Only stopping for food
Bathroom pit stops and gas
Eyes pinned from black beauties
And a bag of joints on the seat
Bad weather was an inconvenience
One you overcame by driving through it
Music the constant companion
Can’t fall asleep if you’re singing
And make it from Fort Collins
To central Manhattan in 28 hours
Fifty short years later white knuckle
Driving is no longer a fun adventure
Just stress, which I avoid like sour milk
And I’m happy that my son looks out
For me even though I already knew about
That bad boy storm before he called
So as I dance through the last quarter
It makes me smile that I still know
What’s happening enough to be prepared
And have kids that take time to
watch my back…
Trying to steer a car on snow
Is something I would rather not know
How to do, for it cannot be done
It is all kinds of weird, none of it fun.
If you have ever bowled in a lane,
Let me make this rather plain.
Your car is like a bowling ball.
Traveling into a gutter, down deep and all.
You watch it happen with disbelief
Not a thing you can do, as your day turns to grief.
If you think you can do this, good for you.
But what if we throw solid ice under your shoe?
Do you get in your car and try to drive on ice
Not listening to the radio who is telling you twice
The interstates are closed, the roads are a mess.
Why do you do this? Would you like to confess?
Trying to steer a car on ice, is like trying to steer
A house that is falling from the sky.
How to do it? It cannot be done.
It is all kinds of weird, and none of it fun.
Written 2/08/2019 Contest Feb Week 2, Any Form Any Theme
Sponsor: Brian Strand
In the heavens, signs
Tell of many lives to come;
The road maps of life.
Laying out our life journey’s,
Cosmic biographies planned.
We follow our maps
And life can work very well;
Successes building
To life’s crescendo, ring out
In congratulations song.
The signs mark well the
roads and turns upon life’s path;
Each one the ramp to
Adventurous interstates
No toll fees, just your Birth right.
I remember the world before all the people and cars.
The animals lived in peace and harmony with the land.
I was the lifeline to places both near and far.
It was a time which you may never understand.
I led the way for early settlers to cross to the west,
Trying to give them a smooth and trouble-free ride.
There were plenty of places along the way to rest,
In little towns that sprouted up on either side.
As the years went by, the world was in a hurry,
So I was covered in gravel and stone, and then paved.
During the war, interstates were made to ease the worry,
And many others like me would never be saved.
The quaint little communities that once were thriving
Became dusty old ghost towns almost overnight.
I became riddled with weeds that would not stop growing,
And soon I was deserted; out of mind, out of sight.
My glory days returned through a short-lived t.v. show,
And people remembered where they used to get their kicks.
If a trip down memory lane is where you want to go,
Then keep me alive by taking a drive down Route 66.
You are the reason for why roots do not grow in straight lines,
For you are persistent enough to realize how dull
Life would be without the tangling of words and fingers
Rather than roads and interstates
Distance lodges itself in the definition of numbers
But we constantly forget how often it slips
In between the creases of our palms
When we refuse to blink our eyes away from the sun.
There is love.
But there is lack of it too, (I think),
When such time is only lapsed by the culmination of our fears--
Fears of streetlamps
That bleed false light on tomorrow.
Fears of commas
That leave enough silence for eye contact.
Fears of numbers, for math does not know pain.
You are a deceiver whereas I am a non-believer
And although the stars were always beautiful in your eyes,
They were always real in mine. So believe me when I tell you that
You are the reason for why roots do tangle,
Why distance is more than a number,
Why stars on a map and stars in the sky differ solely by geometry,
Why one day the only Earth we have ever known will die,
And yet we will all live for tomorrow
Because without such hope and such despair,
No words would be needed so.
So many interstates have I endured
South of the Mason-Dixon
Where cotton fields and swamps and Jesus saves
Upon my eyes wind up fixing.
Towns feel so familiar,
Yet I've never taken their exit.
Cities equal more time spent
Escaping the ugly edifice.
As a child, dreams filled the ride
As we made off for our destination.
Now, familiar music tags along
As I criss-cross this great nation.
In forty years, we've come a long way.
The rebel yell begins to fade,
But my destination will remain
Southward where I'll be sipping tea in the shade.
I rode a cloud to kiss a star
and it embraced me with its love light.
The universal eye…smiled.
Echoing energy sang of brotherhood;
angels don’t have any restricted clubs.
One is all and all is one.
The atomic transporter
never charges for a ride.
Currency is a mortal failing.
Dancing across invisible strings;
I hear the harmony of celestial song,
as it, eternally resounds.
Quantum leaping through timeless black holes;
I met myself and sang a reunion duet.
Elemental celebrations, lend a soul wisdom;
timeless secrets reveal themselves,
to souls on quantum journeys.
Inside, eternity’s map,
read only by belief;
shows the quantum interstates, leading home.
Looking at the map, the worn creases
Roads, interstates, lakes and valleys
Pastel colors on crinkled paper
Time will pull and tug in small amounts
Though met with violent resistance
Many springs have soothed the fever
Thoughts of you are gentler now
Years have worn harsh edges down
The southern states of our youth
A smile, a photograph tucked into a book
The dreams that happen less and less
Little tremors where mountains once toppled
I went for a drive yesterday
Alone, thank god
The landscape went by so fast
I feel the sun through the windshield
It's hot, it burns my eyes, but I feel it
And I like that I can feel
It's in these soft, quiet, gentle times
When breathing isn't such a chore
Yes, we will live on--
The river moves forward
I've made peace with you
a fowl smell tonight
and we turned accusative
huge chicken farms
Dedicated to all the chicken
farms along the interstates.
Take me to the hill
from which the rainbow rises
to pay ancestors’ tribute.
Share the memories
handed down by mighty chiefs,
warriors who loved the land.
Harmony once reigned
between their tribes and nature
until white men invaded.
Interstates now run
through our backyards -- urban sprawl.
Endangered is our future.
*Entry for Chris's contest, but originally written for Rick's "Ancient Songs" contest.
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