We're goin' out to Idaho where the potatoes grow
honey we're leavin' quite soon
but if you call it quits then I've had my chips
and like the wolf I'll be a-howlin' at the moon
I'm over this Sunshine State yeah I can hardly wait
baby we're leaving at noon
but if you say 'No way!' and you wanna stay
like the wolf I'll be a-howlin' at the moon
if we don't go to Idaho where the potatoes grow
darlin' don't know what I'll do
I can't stand the strain it's drivin' me insane
and like the wolf I'm a-howlin' at the moon
if we load the luggage in the car
and hit the road it ain't that far
no it ain't so far to go
we'll be there before you know
and I won't be a-howlin' at the moon
please don't let me down don't turn this dream around
'cause you don't need to hear me
howlin' like the wolf a-howlin' at the moon
Light arrives from its flight
wheeling behind its suitcase of shadows,
exposures, echoes and consequences.
It spills its hoard across the floor,
and gathers remnant dark
remains from dim corners.
It daubs and stitches
black silhouette capes and patches
behind all it passes.
These shadowy figures are light's wind vanes
tracing where its being seen.
Light reveals the cracks, dents, dust and flaws
hidden by unrealized expectations.
It dusts the scene for fingerprints
and other forensic traces
bringing all the hidden
unseemly before and afters
into stark relief.
Nothing escapes light's black valise
carry-on bag.
I
We know Psych 101
Thanks Oprah; Phils of many a hue
But our baggage becomes luggage
II
We say the right words (mostly for image)
The hard work of transformation (even Romans 12: 1-2) stops
Each time we have a nice day, or a nice "friend"
(III. Take baggage, luggage, guilt ...
To the Cross where Jesus paid it all
Leave it there; don't pick it upon leaving)
The luggage of expectations
The burden
Putting the life journey
To halt on its way
LUGG
Frequent flyer
Empty baggage chute
Where is my checked luggage
the knock was heard twice
and liking questions he asked
'someone at the door?'
the sound came again
this time from somewhere closer
and he said 'hello?'
there was no answer
just another knock nearer
he quizzed 'the back stair?'
was it death he thought
holding a smile and dreaming
he asked 'friend or foe?'
came the voice 'neither
i am not of this world
'but another view'
'how well you did live
love and learn to let it go
is what matters most'
'not to me but you
because you are the luggage
nothing more to take'
stan sand
streams of emotion
the story under the ice -
- dynamic landscapes
31.05.2019
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Twilight in Bordeaux,
and the luggage
still waits for me...
I make my way
in familiar/unfamiliar streets
to the railway station.
Familiar, for one sees
similar all over France -
the cobblestones.
My luggage will resound
on these on my way
to the Hôtel Passion.
You will hear me coming!
Think of it - the tiny wheels
wanting to be heard
above the cars.
They will rumble with delight
at the start of my vacation.
---------------------------------
9/4/2015
Contest - 600
Sponsor - Brian Strand
4th place win
Clouded glass prevented
The driver from reaching her
Destination. Sunken eyelids,
Furrowed forehead,
Contributed to the already
Wearied woman's unseemly appearance.
Yet she dreaded that most of all.
Then as fast as a fish flitting
Out of the water and in,
She realized how wrong they'd
Been all along. These freeloading
Hitchhikers were simply baggage
In her already jam-packed car.
Furthermore, they
Didn't deserve to see that side
Of her, or any, for that matter.
This is but a play of woes,
The tales of friends and fans that nurse friendly fires:
Oh what a bunch of friendly foes
The fiery flowers that lure into the mires
The moon in grey colors sings gladly
The stars dances in the colors of the night,
The sparrows’ concert ended sadly
But the world still smiles with a fainting light.
I gaze into the wings of the skies
To see if I could squat with the eagles
But the smokes that soar told me lovely lies
For I got to the blue skies only to find bubbles
With the sun and stars I shared my brawns and brains
Never did my heart shared fair dust and dross
Why oh why, after I had sown my gold and gains
Was I given the luggage of lies and loss?
To live is to travel for the strange.
Sometimes, the images and passages
leave us in a soaked state
without the vision of abysses.
The destiny of trip is an unknown,
nor maps advance to draw.
The road is infinite
but there are shortcuts
for those who want to cut them.
In the luggage: dreams, hope,
faith, objectives to reach...
We longed for blessedness,
be which is the road to proceed.
But how to win the uncertainty?
Not forgetting to put the courage
in the luggage, with certainty.
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