“Wanderlust”
Tag Archives: poem
The Cold Chair
Late night
Out of sight
Vanished in the thin winter air
The stare of one thousands breezes
Over a vacant chair
Isn’t it a cold night
A cold long night
Irreversible
The future provisions
Will be written with intention
Intentionally
Irreversibly
The Ultimate Dissension
Friendly conversation
Unfriendly results
Pushing on with dismal assaults
It’s a bad look
With bad intention
Negative interations
The ultimate dissension
All I Have
For all I have
And all I don’t
I guess I will never know
4 Minutes
In 4 minutes I will attempt
To write words
Strung together with
Some meaning
My eyes are stuck to the screen
Gleaming
Written in an attempt to say
What I have postponed along the way
Returning to ritual
Feels good
Yet not unusual
Repair our Wounds
The bags are full
On the hardwood floors
My wife looks at me
“I’m not sure I can do this anymore”
Life is rough
Getting ready for the road
But when opportunity calls
We know no more
Than to go
Repair the wounds
And hope for a full room
The lessons we learned
The muscles we have conditioned
For a true living condition
And we push on
Separate Hands
We all sit around a fluorescent fire
Comforted by being side by side
Yet in a complete new world
Each of our minds
Has gone to find
Together we are in physicality
But in reality
We could not be farther apart
So we watch our fires
Burning in our hands
Selfish held plans
A new sense of community is born
From the hand held fires
That burn all night long
Separating us from
Dusk to dawn
When the One Lets You Down
I have had this car for years
Made it through many laughs
Hard fought tears
Somehow these metal and plastic walls
Have converted into more of a hollowed hall
Celebration of years worked
Half worked
Double time
But when it starts to go south
Off the linear path
It’s hard to decide
When to let go
To let the old vessel
Stroll alone
Down the final road
No more strategy
No more money
It’s the end of the road
When can I decide
These hollowed halls
Have lived through thin truths
Thick lies
But in the end
Life goes on
It’s the memories not the material
That I will take from this world
Hand Smoked Heat
Back to Chicago
Toll road to the city strolls
Winds blowing street tires
Filled with air pushing forward
The trips become a frequent chore
We open doors to adjust leather seats
Broken in and ripped
Hand smoked heat from summer shores
Semis headed off to 94
As we head for Lakeshore
Same city
Same sound
Familiar from the skyline to the broken ground
Chicago
My first city
Lake Michigan shores
We head back once more