chasing a light's glow
is fraught with daft illusions
shadows grow and fade
mirages beckon off-road ~
echoes are hopes oft broken
Sometimes a turn is a lifetime
You can't live on the past life.
Move on and face the present
Time can't be a value you miss.
It's a long way forward go off road
No frills, no chills but braveness.
The finishing line intended who's
Heart is fix and mind is made up.
Never let go of good intentions,
But cherish on going to improve.
Life is design to move upward
What is there to fear for something.
we run off the path, orange dog and I
Some try to get us back on it, but why do they try?
We like running off road, it feels better on our feet
At the end of the road a butcher gives my dog meat.
We run off the path, because we can.
It makes some crazy, especially the garbage man.
He toots his horn and points to the road and I laugh.
No one can tell me where to run like a giraffe.
My mule is intelligent, and it loves me.
perhaps it loves everybody,
it's a rental.
I need a shot of confidence.
The mule rests its head on my shoulder.
It's a well-travelled track
but today I have met no one.
I should have left camp in the early dark,
for now a fiery desert sun
is baking the dry earth into hot broken glass.
I imagine our bones
being found some years later
by some kid in an off-road Lexus.
The Mule snorts derisively;
nudges me in the small of the back
to get me going.
A few miles later I'm drinking Tequila
in a cantina
and the mule is falling in love again
with some other intrepid explorer.
The country song we couldn’t find
on the radio that night;
We never seem to know
where to go from here;
Maybe a kiss would tell us
I feel your heartbeat in my spine;
It doesn’t make any sense
since we barely touch;
We’ve never taken that ride;
Yeah! We could be that country song!
A labyrinth of lost lyrics left unwritten
because they’re all things
that haven’t happened yet;
A multi platinum record all the same;
Still, we’ve never taken that ride;
Yeah! We could be that country song!
Blasting from the radio as the rain pours down,
stuck off road nowhere to go
the windows rolled all the way down;
We could be that country song!
Yeah!
The one we’ll finally find on the radio
on a muddy Summer night.
Though few drive off-road in their truck
Pick-up owners have run amok
Having a tail gate
Their mood will elate
While the cabin carries a schmuck
Author's note: A pass to those folks who use their truck for business on a regular basis. However, a status truck reveals a weak mind and hurts the environment more than a "normal" car. Those are already bad enough.
An Airline International KLM,
Heavily landed
With heavyweight dead body
Belongs to Professor KLM,
Before it was off loaded
Into his Black Mercedes Off-road
In a rush
To the bush
To be buried in the village
Where he left since his teenage,
To be buried by same relatives,
Whom he treated as slaves
And same villagers,
Whom he treated as beggars.
This Professor of Mathematics
And Economics
Who wrote several proposals
For his villagers
To be poorer
Is buried near his leaning roof
Which is ten times and half,
Worse
Than the village chairman’s house.
Which plant
Do you think we would plant?
On top of his grave
While he doesn’t deserve
To rest under the shade of plants
For sweet fruits!
To hell!
after bend off road
gentle green is appearing
soothing cane vast field
MY DREAM VACATION
Sharing juicy oranges on a dusty Spanish pavement
The cloudless sky offers no respite from the relentless sun
Free of time concerns, we cycle to our next ad-lib adventure
Guided by suggestions not structure
Blown by the wind, we wing it to wherever
We are not bound by the books
They say: "life is just beyond your comfort zone"
I would add "memories do not follow a timetables"
The unknown awaits the unscheduled
I will long remember the feel of the sticky juice on my hands but the memories of luxury dinners have faded
But planless isn't always painless
Carefully consider your companion
A timid friend will be too traditionalistic to escape
An incautious friend may be imprudent or frivolous
A considered choice of companion opens off-road experiences
Be brave, be adventurous
Escape from conservative chains
Liberated, fly free.
Sponsor L MILTON HANKINS
Contest Name MY DREAM VACATION
Written 29 March 2022
we were confessing
when we counted each blessing
All window dressing
we could always tell
after we would hear each shell
which was pure hell
for youth is a cure
grow up and become mature
we can endure
longer and longer
Putin was a war monger
said he is stronger
Putin pageantry
seems to be his strategy
by him majesty
Putin has lot of nerve
Off road did force us to swerve
he then threw a curve
As I look to see the way she stands
when I leave
-I'm surprised as if a wave,
reminds me.
As long as the shadow of etertinity-
drawn from the drip of the cup
of our unspoken insecurity.
Is it purity or impurity?
As far apart
you feel away,
I never think myself the villain.
When when is the stark beneficiary of today.
When our feelings go out to 'plain
from a side-turn you're right of me,
on, what happens with loves burning,
churning a flames symphony
within a sacred play.
We always go off hand,
off road of the clear path.
I mean to say, that come hell or hound,
they are gonna stand on either way-
of our aftermath.
-
Debris of props in our execution of stay.
If a thought comes and if love has taken away,
its place is a man who loves a thing,
even the trace-
Of a day that can be just you.
Shining its beloved face.
Prison Dixie
An orange glow reigns down
Upon concrete paths.
Ash flails as it falls.
Vanished pine needles
Blackening the ground beneath.
Drifting along sidewalks.
Ominous haze hangs air
As darkness eases over the land.
Masked, I move through quiet eerie.
Razor wire towers above.
Souls remain inside the concrete walls
As I exit the gates in cowardice.
Dixie is fierce.
She grasps the breath of a Nation.
Stealing forests.
Burning oxygen.
Barrening landscapes.
Causing fear.
I reach for my car door and pull.
Settled ash raises in final fury,
Stinging my eyes.
I am surrounded by the smell of smoke visibly stuck in the valley.
Headlights bounce off road signs
As I drive home.
Dixie is brazen.
She harms our lungs and causes trauma
While etching blackness into the land
And leaving swathes of scars.
A tragedy in the making looms
In the mountains
As the orange sun burns bright above.
-Chelsey Robb
Photosynthesis
Photosynthesis
Helps fund life
A plant’s synthesis
This is life’s wife
Food that is given
For others to live
To which one is striven
To take and give
So they stay alive
And stay completely sane
Always take the dive
Always say in lane
But you may go off road
So you lose control and death may now bode
Written on January 29, 2020
When I was but a boy
in the small village of Cold Springs,
I lived near a cantankerous old witch.
At least, that's what the gossip implied she was.
Her name was Almeda Hamilton, and she was a hoarder.
Of course, we knew nothing of hoarders back then
and most everyone thought she was plum crazy.
She'd trap and skin groundhogs and squirrels,
salt their hides and stitch their raw pelts into fur coats.
Pew, you could smell her coming downwind for miles.
She lived off-road in a patch of trees
in a dilapidated cottage crammed with garbage.
The irony is, her father once owed the whole county,
and she was an heiress,
suffering from a severe phobia and mental problem.
Years back, or so the story goes,
her fiancée had left her at the altar,
but her father had built them that house,
and so, she stayed there a recluse.
It was rumored she'd buried hordes of cash,
and when she died, alone in her filth,
her property was potholed by fools trying to find it.
I confess, I felt sorry for her then, and still do,
for the lady got mistreated by the world,
and on its behalf, I apologize.
(Free Verse)
03/18/2020
25cc Moped
The 25cc moped was so very cool
It had a two stroke 25cc engine
A full body fairing with space
Under the seat for the rider’s helmet
Was fitted with bright LED lights
And a neon digital display for the speed
Not to mention a comfy green double seat
The off road tires were big and chunky
And the body was painted blue
All in all this moped was cool
Even if illegal on most roads
The engine was just too small
But it was fine for the sticker said:
125cc and nobody questioned the lie
Allowing me to ride my moped
Wherever I wanted
At a top speed of 30mph
To whizz on by
from Side of the Hill – Varied Poems... Nick Armbrister
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