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Poetry

Popularity 3Viewed 1785 times 2013-10-14 12:07 |Personal category:Personal Life|System category:News

I realize that most of my blogs focus on pictures. So, I thought I would post some more of my poetry to show that I do have an interest in writing. 

National Old Trails

 

The people here before the highway

Didn’t have cars, but on the way home

They made their dirt paths into a kind of road

Between where the lived, and the people

They fought against or met with for trade

So they could bring their families something new.

 

Trains came, and the desert saw something new.

Machines sped across a mechanized iron highway.

Mechanics coming to remote towns to practice their trade.

In the middle of nowhere they set up new homes

And the area attracted new people.

All of it because of an iron road.

 

Cars came, and for them a plank road

Was built.  Experimental and new

Pavements might not work. People

Drove to their dreams in California on the highway.

Hoping for a new and sunny, beautiful home.

Getting rid of their old homes made it a good trade.

 

It was time for the planks to be bypassed, traded

For a newer, better, longer-lasting road.

Send the planks to a dumpster,

It’s time for pavement, something new.

A National Old Trails Highway,

To connect America and its people.

 

But even that wasn’t enough for some people.

Within a few years, the desert witnessed another trade;

Yet another, newer, paved, national highway!

66 was the latest government road

Which migrants travelled to find a life that was new

And reach California, a job, and a home.

 

As we speed towards our home,

Passing by other cars full of people

Trying to get somewhere, I think about this new

Behemoth, and would I choose to trade

The interstate for any of those historic roads?

How much better is a massive eight-lane highway?

 

For some people, romance or speed can be a difficult trade.

So we always want to build a new, better road.

And our new home is always somewhere down the highway.


Cuba

“Your government lies to you!” he says,

but he and his government lie to their people.

He tell us about exiles from his country,

Living in ours, who are trying

To overthrow his government.

But are they really terrorists? Is it true

That they are trying to lead an invasion?

Not all propaganda is on billboards.


Interstate Love Song*

*a Stone Temple Pilots song title

 I-15, I love you

Eight powerful lanes of concrete

Barreling through the dessert,

Cutting hills, crossing rivers,

We drivers push across the land

At 80 miles per hour thanks to you

San Diego, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Salt Lake

Baker, Mesquite, Fillmore, Butte,

Mexico to Missoula, our country’s South to North

Mighty concrete swath across the West that connects us.

 

Off your Yermo exit is that Diner,

With its “Diner-saur” park where Dad and I

Discussed vacation plans over chicken fried steak

Up the road, that Utah Kid whose voice never dropped

Between a summer working at a museum

And the next year when we heard him at the sandwich shop.

In Idaho Falls, the Phillip’s 66 where we stopped

After every Chuckars’ baseball game.

You really do connect us.


Scrawled on the Sidewalk

Scrawled on the sidewalk:

“The War is Over:

Go Back to Partying!”

 

Three men in camoflauge

Army uniforms,

ride their bikes

over the words,

 

books in their front baskets

as they pass me.

 

Do I call out

and thank them

for their willingness

to do what I’m

scared to do?

Or should I let them

 

Blend in?

 

 

(Opinions of the writer in this blog don't represent those of China Daily.)


Passing

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Ray

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Reply Report snowipine 2016-3-12 11:36
Traveling a lot, thinking a bit and then taking some reading, what a joyous lifestyle! When here is free time for free disposal, stringing together the fragmental memories into pieces of writing works, share them with like-minded, it's kind of another sort of  luxurious treatment.

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  • Pumpkin Patch 2016-3-12 11:42

    Back to 80s, pumpkin is one of my  family's staple vegetable.

  • Poetry 2016-3-12 11:36

    Traveling a lot, thinking a bit and then taking some reading, what a joyous lifestyle! When here is free time for free disposal, stringing together the fragmental memories into pieces of writing works, share them with like-minded, it's kind of another sort of  luxurious treatment.

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