Where the groundhog has chewed the chain link
I slip through a brittle-boned hedge, and I am there
where geese sail a puddle-deep fog.
We taste the sea in its brine-washed ripples
splash through its salty clouds. Ohio rides on
oceanic currents, the Atlantic gets swept up
on gull wings, surf drifts West for miles,
then flops down and paddles deeper.
The sky has startled fisheyes in it; between the
soggy woods, aquatic scales slide and gleam.
Long-winded showers shatter where mermaids
chase, plunging on through dazed turnpikes,
or pausing to comb their wavy hair at windswept
rest-stops along Interstate I.75.
Categories:
turnpikes, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Where the groundhog has chewed the chain link
I slip through a brittle-boned hedge
and I am there where geese sail
a puddle-deep fog.
I taste the sea in its brine-washed ripples.
Ohio spates with oceanic currents,
the Atlantic gets swept up on gull wings
surf pours West for hundreds of high miles,
then flops and pools.
The sky has fisheyes in it.
Between the blight-broken woods
aquatic scales skim, gleam
and blink over surface waters.
Long-winded showers shatter to spray,
clouds drip mist-drowned sea air's
upon a mirage of mermaids
that chase to catch them on the fly
as they plunge on
through the sodden turnpikes,
or pause to comb their sing-song hair
at the wind-swept rest stops
along Interstate 75.
~~~~~~~~~
edit
Categories:
turnpikes, poetry,
Form: Free verse
On gravel mountain path,
underneath shadowed pine crowns: friends ride mountain bikes,
where none hath
neath sapphire sky.
Roller coaster, fun lighting strikes,
runs bye.
Wearing
down bends, turnpikes,
in
swooping dust inward wrath.
Their enlivening heartbeat spikes.
Win!
4/3/2022
Minichu
6 12 3 -4 8 2 -2 4 1 – 6 8 1
Aba, cBc, dbD, ABD.
Categories:
turnpikes, mountains,
Form: Rhyme
The Alleys of Virtual Municipalities
By David J Walker
I love walking
the rutted roads
Running in
hidden groves
Through
the residential jungles
the rambling
backyard boulevards
dividing the
single file plies of
dirt and gravel
A straight line between
Picket fenced fortresses of
Flimsy privacy providing
Trash truck Sunday drivers with a
A No man’s land-bound with trees &
Treasures found by
dumpster divers
I love listening
To the feral catcalls
in the last stand of
wildland
Overruled by skulks of city foxes
I love trekking
The pioneered turnpikes
On fast mountain bikes
Riding & reading between
the telephone lines
mapped by
XYZ Municipalities and
The vague virtual realities of
An alley’s informalities
I love the
Tell all tall tales
Of what fails to be
Needed anymore
Underscored by
Overflowing dumpsters
Categories:
turnpikes, allegory,
Form: Rhyme
drop a carrot
Down the rabbit hole
just where does it go
leaving where how does it grow
drilling past the core
tunnel spiking wiggling like a worm
Coming and going Burns
turnpikes out of sight
channel and traveling so
Go rapid rabbit Go
11/1/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr ©
Categories:
turnpikes, analogy, anxiety, confusion, humanity,
Form: Rhyme
Where the groundhog has chewed the chain link
I slip under,
then over the blacktop
through a brittle-boned hedge,
and I am there where geese sail
a puddle-deep fog.
I taste the sea in its brine-washed spittle.
Ohio ripples with oceanic currents.
The Atlantic gets swept up on gull wings.
Surf pours West for hundreds of miles,
then it flops down.
The sky has fish-eyes in it.
Between the factory and the wind-broken woods,
whales the size of gnats skim surface water.
A vocal rain shatters mist into words,
songs mermaids trawl for and catch
as they plunge through sodden turnpikes,
or pause to comb their hair
at the wind-swept rest stops
along Interstate 75.
Categories:
turnpikes, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Painting pictures with thousands of words,
Everybody's an artist and poet today.
Traveling for stardom on man made birds
Or on fast moving trains along the superhighway,
They fly by. Now who can track reasonable duty?
Instead, fantasies thrive on the sun's hot wings,
And everything is blurred beyond natural beauty;
If their passions are set toward earthly things,
Why are they, who should hike and pedal bikes
To find snapshots of new poses along old trails,
Which lead to the expressway from routes of turnpikes,
Bypassing roses and dues with vanity along the rails;
Where dreams are as real as they feel to dreamers,
Burning lusts dissipate dew from plush green valleys
From mountain top scenarios. The wishes of blasphemers
Ignore the School of Thought, yet implore schemes for tallies.
Riding coach with first class treatment without hesitations
To break sound barriers, void of time, talents, treasures and pain,
These counterfeiters move on their way to one stop destinations
Arriving with open umbrellas under formless clouds without rain.
Categories:
turnpikes, art, imagination, inspirational, on
Form: Rhyme