Tag Archives: journey

a good place to die – NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo Challenge Day 2

a good place to die

it is folk legend, instinct some would say, that animals
when they’re close to death wander off, alone to die

the perfect house in every way, one-level, secluded
on a hill, girded by hickory trees and wild pines, with
back windows facing east, front due west, undressed
to take advantage of warm sunrises and fiery sunsets,
textured white walls of swirling stucco, a fireplace,
garage attached, front porch and back, the perfect house

it’s only legend though; truth is, animals as they grow
old or sick, faltering, simply become weaker, slower

like my life, getting to the perfect house, the place where
I most certainly will die – in polite conversation we call
it a retirement home, or a forever home, though we all
know forever is not really forever –
getting here is a bit of a
journey, one must leave crowded house-lined King George
Avenue where pertinacious neon blots the stars from sight at
night, then travel along sleek four-lane byways flanked by banks,
churches, restaurants, dentists, service stations, and dollar stores,
curving, rising, dipping, along the rolling Blue Ridge feet, to
two-lane, no-pass roads, street lights replaced by looming
oaks, that lean over the winding bends, leaves dancing
from the rush of air displaced by passing cars, further
still, a turn, and then another, to a single lane, in an
unincorporated town identified by county seat, zip
code from a nearby, more civilized town with a post office,
past wire-fenced fields of grazing horses, cows, goats,
llamas and donkeys, down, down, around and up over
streams and creeks bubbling in the shadow of mountain
peaks, my dented mailbox leaning at the crux of a sharp
turn, there up, up, up, the driveway, she sits, sunlit
by day, warm green shingles beneath a 50-year metal roof
it is quiet, oh so quiet, but for chattering birdsong, and rustling
squirrels, the pensive, silent gaze of deer-folk greeting me

in fact, there are observed occasions where herds are known to stop, to wait
for lagging members, injured, vulnerable, to catch up to the safety of the group

neighbors at a distance dotting the surrounding knolls, this perfect
place, sans of things that no longer serve, knick-knacks, dust-collectors
and the like; my children will thank me in the end, when left with
little to dispose of my once busy, cluttered life and I am learning traveling
lighter has its benefits, most notable is time for reading, writing, planting
weeping pussy willows, irises, climbing rose bushes, sunflowers and
wild flowers, perhaps a dahlia cluster too amidst hybrid hostas in
the most lovely shade of blue, erecting bird feeders, feeders for the
squirrels too, and a lovely spot for barbecues to share with family
and friends who happen by, I’m in no hurry yet, to die, but this will
be my final home, the roaming of my youth long done, how lovely just
to sit a spell under the stars, and listen to cricket chirp and peepers peeping,
every night, good for sleeping, remembering the road that brought me here

it’s not intentional, their falling behind or wandering off, inevitably,
ultimately, they become too weak to return to the pack, never to be seen again


NaPoWriMo/GloPoWriMo Challenge Day 2: write a poem about a specific place — a particular house or store or school or office. Try to incorporate concrete details, like street names, distances (“three and a half blocks from the post office”), the types of trees or flowers, the color of the shirts on the people you remember there. Little details like this can really help the reader imagine not only the place, but its mood – and can take your poem to weird and wild places.


Journey – Manic Mondays

MM3WJourney

love with its passion will fly by,
tail lights in the night and the
questions, the waiting, the secret
burn, the pain, won’t stop
love is the red-eyed, fevered
hum of longing, knowing, still
expecting, sensing, when
there is no turning back
there is no turning back

 ~kat

For Manic Monday’s Three-Way Prompt Challenge: Word: Journey/Photo/Song: Big Log by Robert Plant.


Big Log 

My love is in league with the freeway
Its passion will ride, as the cities fly by
And the tail-lights dissolve, in the coming of night
And the questions in thousands take flight
My love is the miles and the waiting
The eyes that just stare, and the glance at the clock
And the secret that burns, and the pain that won’t stop
And its fuel is the years
Leading me on – leading me down the road
Driving beyond
Driving me down the road
My love is exceeding the limit
Red-eyed and fevered with the hum of the miles
Distance and longing, my thoughts do collide
Should I rest for a while at the side
Your love is cradled in knowing
Eyes in the mirror, still expecting they’ll come
Sensing too well when the journey is done
There is no turning back
No
There is no turning back
On the run
My love is in league with the freeway
Oh the freeway, and
The coming of night-time
My love
My love is in league with the freeway


Lone Journey

A Kyrielle Poem for Jane Dougherty’s Weekly Poetry Challenge using the words: Moonlight, tread, wary, secret, swaying and the photo below as inspiration.

DreamingTrees
Evening moonlight floods the pathway
swaying trees lean in shadow play
along the treaded road to home
each soul must journey here alone.

Once upon each new life dawning
wary travelers seek belonging
often forgetting what they know
each soul must journey here alone.

Days turn into weeks, months, years
decades spent in joy and in tears
some find life spent, nothing to show
each soul must journey here alone.

Still others with true joie de vivre
have no regrets come time to leave
they know the secret in their bones
each soul must journey here alone.

Soon, too soon life’s final chapter
turns the page to the hereafter
promising peace for all who roam
each soul must journey here alone.

kat ~ 26 May 2016


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