Dead Ends

The rubber met the road. The pedal hit the metal.
Raindrops filled the kettle. The explorer did not settle.
The peasant earns Shekels. Many faces wear frowns.
Some attendees heckled. The rubber met the road.
The host ended the show. Robots speak morse code.
Frogs claim to be toads. The snakes in the grass
slither fast as the blades cut and the blinds shut.
In life, follow your sight and do what is right.
Trust your gut. Pretend that you did not just hit
a dead end. Go spend time before time spends
you. It is time to lose the shoes and move out
of the way of the kicking boot. I mean, shoot.
Time to turn around. We are not quite ready
to sing the blues, read the news, or face
the fact that we must pay off our debt.
Just turn around and you will be free: set.









Down the Road

I see flowers growing
down the road. I see
them shooting through
the concrete. Under
my feet isn’t a street;
it’s a dirt road only
the roughest feet know.
I hear birds chirping
down the road. I see
the sun shoot rays
down the road. Now,
I stay in place, as I
take up space. I see
what could possibly be
in front of me. Down
the road is where I’ll go.

Refugee Road

Now introducing my 8th self-published chapbook, Refugee Road. This marks the 4th and final chapbook in the Driveway Journals collectionThis chapbook explores the theme of finding your own way. In life, we are often presented challenges and choices that take us to unknown destinations. I try to chronicle some poems that tell a story of hope. We never know if we are headed in the right direction, but we do know that we are still walking forward. Enjoy the chapbook and allow it to aid you on your own journey. Off-road or on, keep finding your way, even if it is on Refugee Road.

 

The Open Road Manifesto

2/4 of The Driveway Journals

Enjoy my 6th Self-Published Chapbook. Love you all and keep writing!

Listen to the audio:

The U-Turn

We drive this road all day.
We drive from April to May.
We drive this road so much.
We’ve almost lost our touch.
This road made us who we are.
This road can take us far.
This road can break our cars
and remind us of our scars.
This road brought joy and pain;
it was there in sun or rain.
We drive until we pass.
If something blocks our way,
then we turn around fast.
We will go. We can’t stay.
We drive until we turn back
on this road painted black.
It’s our turn to turn around –
to return to an old sound.