Monday, October 08, 2012

Monday Poetry Stretch - On the Road

Do you like to travel? I've been doing a lot of obligatory travel lately and it's not nearly as much fun as long-planned and awaited trip. It's also not as much fun as an impromptu day trip. 

I was at a conference last week and I'm leaving again this week to visit my Mom. The former will be much more enjoyable than the later. In any case, travel is on my mind. Whether by car, train, plane, boat, or any other form, hitting the road can be exciting. No matter what happens, travel is always bound to be interesting.

So while this is on my mind, let's write about hitting the road this week. I may even write my own poem while making my way home. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll share the results in time for Poetry Friday.

By the way, last week the challenge was to write personal ad poetry. The results were a lot of fun, so do stop by and check them out.

27 comments:

  1. This is an older poem that I've been revising for a collection, so being on the road and the things we encounter there are fresh in my mind:

    Broken Bridge
    By Steven Withrow


    Between commutes, night workers
    Houdini’d a two-lane overpass,
    leaving steel-studded supports

    bookending the old post road:
    totems, tomes, magician’s lore,
    a sleight of civil engineering

    conjured wholly out of place,
    span of vanished expectation,
    as though driving through a novel

    and slamming, mid-sentence, into
    ellipsis ... blank caesura
    of a chapter break ... cliffhang-

    ing, trestle-robbing business,
    no job for the fading, feint
    of heart—this morning, are those

    hard-hatted daysleepers dreaming
    of dawn’s interpolation
    in night’s rhythm of wreck and rest,

    or are they too done in by toil
    to presto forth illusions
    on the disappearing scrim of sleep?

    ReplyDelete
  2. This poem keeps getting better and better, Steven. Pithy, complex, image-and-language rich! Julie

    ReplyDelete
  3. Next week I'll try to write something cheerful! But not today. This happened last week.


    Traffic Jam

    Stuck in traffic where there’s usually none:
    takes an hour to go four miles.
    Two men get out of their cars and talk.
    We move again, crawling past sunflowers.
    I write poems, supporting a scrap of paper
    I found in my purse on the steering wheel.
    Call my friend to complain. Watch
    the sky brighten, the lights coming up.
    Finally we reach the show—a street sweeper
    gathers glass on the edge of the freeway
    like an old man in a Mary Poppins park.
    The truck is being towed, the last
    of three that crashed. Only five cop cars left.
    The ambulances are gone, taking their sirens
    with them like noisemakers after a party.
    The morning falls still. I’m late for work now.
    Someone is dead. Someone is dead.

    —Kate Coombs

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Sad poem--but nice metaphors, Kate.

      Delete
    2. Wow...I could tell where the ending was going, but when I got there, it still hit me.

      Delete
    3. That echoing last line. Wow.

      Delete
  4. Here's a revision of a 'road' poem I wrote earlier this year...

    Traveling North

    yellow daisies
    line the tracks,
    sunny pinpoints,
    smiling back.
    whistle blowing,
    engine fast,
    yellow daisies
    sailing past.
    maples rim
    the river’s mouth,
    slender fingers,
    pointing south.
    frilly caps of
    Queen Anne’s lace,
    crown the hills
    with bridal grace.
    you and I
    sit side by
    side as this
    showy world
    drifts by—
    we hold hands,
    and bow our heads,
    pray this journey
    never ends.

    (c) jgk 2012
    http://www.facebook.com/juliekrantzbooks

    ReplyDelete
  5. FINAL DESTINATION

    Run, fly, skate, drive,
    Walk, sail, bike, hike.
    No matter how you travel
    No matter where you roam
    There's no better feeling
    Then coming home.

    (c) Charles Waters 2012 all rights reserved.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. True, true, Charles.

      (Small note: "Then" should be "Than," I believe.)

      Delete
    2. Nice catch Steven. Thank you. :-)

      Delete
  6. Thanks for Nothing Wilbur, Orville

    My last flight home, one of those white-knucklers,
    hands clutching the arm of the seat,
    annoying the man on my right
    till he closed his eyes in protest,
    we dropped twenty feet, straightened,
    dropped again to the accompaniment
    of my loud exhalations.

    I’ve never been a happy flier, goggling
    at the glorious scenery below,
    making cloud edens, enjoying the stitching
    of lightning lacing through the sky.
    Often I think that if God wanted us to fly
    we’d have beaks and a love of early worms.
    Make of that—Wilbur, Orville, what you will.

    Too bad trains, buses, automobiles are so slow.
    I can stand fear for an hour or two, I suppose.
    After that, I curse the North Carolina sands,
    where nothing ever after went right.

    ©2012 Jane Yolen all rights reserved

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I love how fluid and unforced your longer poems can be, Jane. I'm often overly conscious of line breaks and certain correspondences from line to line, so I'm learning a lot by reading a poem like this.

      Delete
  7. Jane--I shouldn't laugh, but I am. I love how you curse the North Carolina sands!

    ReplyDelete
  8. 10-SPEED ROADSTER

    With crimson helmet
    gripping graying strands
    backpack secured
    over neon vest
    I hit the road on
    my 10-speed racer
    zipping past pedestrians
    yapping on cell phones
    while steering strollers
    that hug snoozing babes
    as long-leashed dogs
    snuffle about
    lifting legs
    here and there
    leaving messages
    for canine
    acquaintances.

    © Carol Weis 2012, all rights reserved

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. My favorite part is:

      as long-leashed dogs
      snuffle about
      lifting legs
      here and there

      Delete
  9. Toad in the Road Tanka
    By Steven Withrow


    Always there's a toad
    spoiling our velocities,
    holding its slow pace.
    Why must it insist itself
    into the weave of all things?

    ReplyDelete
  10. Charles Ghigna has a road poem this week at Poetry at Play:

    http://poetryatplay.org/2012/10/06/poet-of-the-week-charles-ghigna/

    ReplyDelete
  11. Seizing your snow globe
    for being an airline threat
    doesn’t hold water.
    Madeleine Begun Kane

    ReplyDelete
  12. I'm with you on that middle-of-the-road travel, Tricia (sorry, couldn't resist). I've got an empty tank this morning (hehe), but I enjoyed reading all these. SO glad you're back with your stretches. I must make a point of getting here on Mondays! Instead of Thursday, by which time I've got nothing.

    ReplyDelete
  13. My first time playing!

    Reading the Signs

    Found Along the Road
    From Binghamton to Odessa, New York

    Antiques
    Bless
    Country
    Dairy
    Eggs
    Field
    God
    Home
    Insurance
    Jesus
    Kitchen
    Legion
    Market
    Night
    Outlet
    Parts
    Quilts
    Risen
    Settled
    Tabernacle
    United
    Village
    Welcome
    Extreme
    Yard
    Zion

    c 2012 Hannah Mahoney

    ReplyDelete
  14. haha--enjoyed your Traveling Alphabet, Hannah. How telling is that!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, Julie. I love the rhythm of yours!

      Delete