Love Poems To My Road Atlas

Buckle your seat belts, we're going on a poetic joyride

Point of Departure * neon screams
Pit stops * travelog * red light green light * car part 1 & part 2 * bus ride * inertia * energy crisis * circus train * business as usual
Final Destination * return of a lost traveler

neon screams

this is the bad trip that doesn’t end
ymca rest stop in philadelphia
five dollar artificial bedroom
pillow too soft
mattress too hard
too narrow
too fleeting to shape itself
to your indentation
sheet burned thin with clorox rinse
feels like the skin of elderly nuns
neon bar sign across the street
flashes red
window blinks
darkness
flash
dark
red
silence
neon screams
glass shatters
burglar broke into the night
duet strobes of light
neon bar sign
patrol car bubble
siren higher pitched than those
you learned to sleep through
you remember sleeping
only now cannot remember how
so you lie awake and plan tomorrow
you will go to the church you passed
when you checked in
you will ask for a handout
lie to the priest
make him believe you
take his money
leave the borrowed car
parked on the street
keys in the trunk
buy a greyhound ticket to ???
new york city
you will invent a reason
later
after you sleep
after the sign stops blinking
after the cop car leaves
after you stop thinking
after you stop thinking
after you stop THINKING
you didn’t notice
you stopped thinking yesterday
on your way
to philadelphia
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

travelog

the particular trip in question
only looked like a car ride
in a dodge
borrowed without permission
on an impulse, like
a driving urge
to get wherever it was i wasn't
after all the city streets i wandered
callousing the sidewalks
blistering my heels
after all those barbed wire
yesterworlds
fencing me in
fencing me out
driving me to shelter
sent me home
or so i thought
i was mistaken

stepping out of a taxicab
i paid with a little song and dance
an animal act that traveled with me
a cat had my tongue
had a frog in my throat
bats in my belfry
and aching dogs
and though no pets
were allowed in the car
the cabbie was very nice about
the mess my psychedelic zoo
left in his taxi and wallet
he even gave me a tip
he said i shouldn't stand in traffic
said i should not be lose in the streets
free advice rarely taken
i thought he was mistaken

as he shifted from neutral
to seventh gear
he disappeared so fast
he was never there at all
then i saw
a familiar face
peering from behind the curtains
fallen face
expecting somebody else
nocturnal avon lady, maybe
recognizing me
without cosmetics
bald faced beggar
coming home
expecting to be welcomed
i was mistaken
taken in however
settled at the cozy kitchen table
dosed with mother medicine

the lodging included being
tenderly tucked into bed
with my constant companion
the boogey man
hidden behind the door
inside the closet
under the bed
and anywhere else
i could think of to be afraid
which is when the idea
occurred to me
to steal away
while my demons lay resting
in my old room
i thought i could fool them
i was mistaken
but that's the entire
point of the story

stealing away in the night
with a purloined gas pedal
cleverly hidden
under my aching feet
i took the backroads
to new york city
by way of hell and philadelphia
only to find myself
in the heart of the city
that never sleeps
in the form of
another me
dressed in someone
else's body
standing beside me
at a crosswalk
i turned to him
and said to myself
this is one strange trip i'm on
and he answered
i really know what you mean
and i believed he did
but we both could have been mistaken.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Red Light, Green Light

James is not blind.
Plastic horn-rimmed glasses are his
most prominent facial feature.
Coke bottle lenses magnify
his eyes and lashes like
holographic cracker jack prize.

He carries a valid drivers license,
has precision night vision,
properly stops and goes at
red light green light intersections,
yields to pedestrians,
avoids collisions,
no violations, parked or moving.

Light turns red, James keeps his eyes
trained straight ahead
as vagrant on the sidewalk
in front of the liquor store
at the northwest corner
takes it in the head from
half a dozen billy clubs.

James drives on when
light turns green.
He isn't blind, he simply chooses
not to see.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

car part one

a ton or two
of tempered steel
does not excite me
though my car does
sleek and black
long and low
responsive to my fingers
i forget it's just a car

love what
daimler-benz has done
with steel and leather
love men using
minds and hands
creating forms
reshaping wishes
into wishes granted
love my car

the only car
i ever loved
longed for
like an inexperienced woman
fantasizing perfect love
telling him
i knew he would for me
he did for me

car part two

flying down the road
at eighty five
top down
wind whipping hair
across my face
catching peach and lilac
sunset
in the rear view mirror
fantasizing
fantasizing he
painted it for me
speakers blare sibelius
performed by heifetz
virtuoso
serenading me in
perfect harmony
precision instrument
performing finely tuned
high speed stradivarius
music drives me
to crescendo
screaming to the wind
as i accelerate
imagine i can fly
the way i drive
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bus Ride

Snails race past sluggish county bus
creeping over speed bumps.
The driver downshifts,
his mind on automatic,
busy punching mental time clock,
blocking anxious passenger odors.

A boy of ten beside his mother
watches rows of barracks stark and ugly
through the passing window.
This is not a field trip.
This is county jail.
Inmates, the lucky ones
await their family visitors.

Sidewalk stops beneath the hissing air brakes.
Boy of ten and hostile watches his step,
watches his mother's swaggering answer
to khaki uniformed glances,
watches his numbered father’s
escorted entrance through armored doors.

Offending man and offended woman
pick up phone receivers,
static connection so farther apart
than long distance.
Eyes meet and smiles flicker
before remembering on either side
of glass divider.
Mother's tears are fresh with shame.
Father's apologetic glance
mentions vacations never taken,
footballs never spiraled,
family traditions never started.

The visiting hour shortened
like childhood to forty minutes,
a boy of ten and determination
says goodbye and means it
then boards the homeward bus,
looking only forward.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inertia

A body in motion
Destination may appear closer
through homeward eyes
than time and distance allow.

remains in motion
Accelerator finds its stride
behind a silver Z-28
holding steady at seventy-five.

unless acted upon
Highway winds across
the Colorado River
first, second, finally, third time.

by an outside force.
Eyelids oppose fatigue
between Le Grange and Smithville,
an hour away from closing.

A body at rest
Your phone voice neutral
when I told you I’d be
another night in Houston.

remains at rest
You didn’t expect me home
until tomorrow.
I changed my mind again.

unless acted upon
3 a.m. exhaustion,
I climb into bed
beside your silence.

by an outside force.
Thoughtlessness
is not equal to anger.
What is the formula for right?

(previously published in Savoy Magazine)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Energy Crisis

My car gets thirsty
heading down the highway.
I gas her up on the pricier
west side of Interstate 35.
A self serve lady,
I pump and pay with a smile.
I milk more mileage from friendly fumes
than high octane testosterone bubbas
get with energy wasting ugliness.
Burly boy with deep fried Southern attitude
saunters toward his pick up,
drawls in my direction,
“White bitch got a Mercedes.”
Like I’m some two-bit whore
in white trash porn remake
of “Deliverance” he’s producing
in his grease pit dreams.
“White bitch got a Mercedes.”
He says it again, making sure I hear.
I fear for future generations
knowing alcohol-driven gonad boy
is capable of reproduction.
This is not a “man” thing,
got nothing to do with fossil fuel.
What we have is a whole different kind
of energy crisis.

(Previously published in Savoy Magazine and Gray Matter Tapestry)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Circus Train

Ringling Brothers came to town.
Shiny silver circus train
parked along that stretch of track
where Bowie Street
dead ends into Third
and trestle curves
along the Colorado River.
I tried to board
Just so I could say I did
The engineer in overalls
told me circus people like their privacy.
Disappointment stirred the dusty gravel
but I trudged away without a hassle
isn't like I walk a tightrope
cannot ride a unicycle
never juggled anything but budgets
and relationships
though I admit
there was a time it crossed my mind
to run away and join the circus.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Business As Usual
It was business as usual,
Saturday evening, Eleventh Street,
East Side,
dark, bad, dangerous side of town.
Somebody told me that's where jazz was.
All I could find was business as usual
buildings boarded and silent,
music over and gone,
sidewalks littered and cracked,
hungry carnivorous entrepreneurs, loitering
hovering, hanging on corners,
leaning on lampposts
doing what Daddy said
those people always do.
Predators oiled and tense
waiting for prey, ready to pounce, watching the traffic
and here comes this white woman
driving alone in a black Saturday night convertible
stopping to turn around
in the seamiest market in town.
Vendors surrounding, dealing direct to the user
offering merchandise
calling it nose
candy,
not drugs.
White woman courteous manner
just says no.
Driving away, 200 horsepower sales resistance,
leaving with blues
in my eyes
missing the jazz
swallowed alive by crack
in jungle sidewalks.
Modern progressive
funeral dirge
composed by men on the street
conducting business as usual.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Return of a Lost Traveler

A traveler, I lost my way from venom night to curing dawn
along a weary winding road that cynics sometimes travel on.
With destination long forgotten, stumbling at a steady pace,
avoiding rutted beaten paths monotonous and commonplace.

A rumbling jarred my trudging feet to step as thoug they knew their route;
a ruse of travelers lost and proud who will not ask directions out.
Approached a shadow I might ask to tell me where this long road led;
exchanged a furtive passing glance, and held my words at bay instead.

When finally disheartenment was quick upon my failing plight,
I reached a turn and gained a perch to glimpse a beacon in the night.
Diffused from source most sinister, an eerie emerald glow was cast
from what appeared a pyramid or monumental mound of glass.

Perhaps I crawled, perhaps I sped; my churning mind raced furious.
All reason was abandoned now; my thoughts ran wild and spurious
and verging on the brink of madness -- searching, groping to explain
macabre vision looming, glowing, growing, driving me insane.

A towering assemblage of chalky bones and hollow skulls
was strewn with gooey tangled vines whose fruit were ghosts instead of hulls.
Phastasmic vegetation neither living nor completely dead
transfixed me; I was paralyzed with muting fear and numbing dread.

The sweet decaying pungency of rot assailed my every sense;
against the seeping reeking seething stench I rallied my defense,
for if this road that I had wandered ended with my final breath,
I vowed to meet unflinchingly the banshees who foretold my death.

As though my will were prescient, one disembodied specter woke
and met my stare with sluggish nightmare animation as he spoke
macabre benediction for my presence at this horrid shrine.
I knew this apparition and I knew his fate was sealed with mine.

More awful than a banshee’s wail, the thrumming, humming weeping squall -
as each appending spirit on the vine awoke, I knew them all,
beseeching me to recognize the ones that I had long forgot.
It was for my forsaken passions others here had come to rot.

The overwhelming suffering of souls who’d loved and been betrayed
transmitted like a thunderbolt, yet strangely made me unafraid
as flashed before my eyes was every moment lost I could have loved
and hanging here, the faces whose betrayal I was guilty of.

A thousand thousand pairs of craving eyes were fixed upon me now --
a moment in eternity that hinged on life or death somehow --
and where a night of emptiness had filled the soul that wandered here,
I gasped awake to dawning realization all who held me dear.

The distance home I measured by the steps to live what I had learned;
by tears I dried and fears I quelled and strangers’ smiles that I returned.
No straight and narrow path I walked; instead the widened thoroughfares
where travelers lost are welcomed and are shown a sign that someone cares.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All works Copyright © Stazja
All Rights Reserved.

Love Poems To My Road Atlas

Driven by poetry

Buckle your seat belts, we're going on a poetic joyride

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