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Brian McKeon
Junior Member

since 2000-04-20

Posts 14
Rochester, NY USA

0 posted 2000-04-28 10:31 AM

The blankets of snow have now covered sunny days;
I - me - the memories,
when roadside flowers bloomed like love,
and all that crossed between these eyes
was all that I was thinking of.
Drifting down deserted, country roads
singing in a jet, black, freedom cart;
a tiny speck, cruising this part of the universe
at smooth, ride-engineered, speeds.

I check my pulse and smile widely,
I'm happy to still be alive
the pits that tried to steal my life
are cheated and the heart still thrives.
Make me an offer to drive.
I say, "I'll take you anyplace you like."
I'll hit that country highway, wild;
and be that maniac - reviled.

Flying over one lane bridges
soaked with early morning dew.
Undercarriage scrapes the pavement
sparking under full, blue-moon.
With a diamond-grin, full bloom
I hold a beer and turn to you
twist the cap and toss it gently
out in to the nights vacuum.
Sweet delay - we beat the day
my souls' delight, to beat the night
and sing with all the morning glory
of a soldier lost in flight...

park the car to get some sleep
to sit and gather thoughts to write
to please the pen that rests in hands
of lonely men who just…open.
Men who don't grab guns, to speak
and shoot the life from things that breathe
to prove that we are 'man'; supreme,
and hang dead beasts from front yard trees.
No, I do not need any of these
the wind is moist and whiskey sweet
and rolls from off my tongue with ease
to say, "I've seen a couple things".

...early morning gun-shot rings
to scatter all the sleeping things
and make them wary to the men
who hunt their homes for heads to bring.
and in a clearing stumbles through,
a vision, my own stumbling drew;
of such a beast, with such a wound
whose bloody mouth, hung so confused...
and what's a poor, lost drunk to do
for such a poor, lost soul in bloom
as men converge to execute
a spirit that would care for you.

start the freedom cart and drift
and see the startled hunters shift
but it's too late, I've hit the switch
and plow right through the thick of it!
Scatter guns and men and pride
and throw them each to every side
and on my hood their trophy rides
to someplace safe, to end it's life.
Swigging down this reckless night
I'm reaching out my hand to life
to see if it will shake me right
and bring me back into the light.

* written during Deer season. Something of a Modest Proposal for hunters.

Joel the wolf
Senior Member

since 2000-04-06

Posts 1333
Angels Camp

1 posted 2000-04-29 11:32 AM

My friend we share the same passion.
The light is in your reaching out.
Keep writing.
Joel.

I howl a mornful song, that echos within my chambered heart, for all to read? nay for all to feel.

SpitFire
Member Elite

since 2000-04-19

Posts 2396

2 posted 2000-04-30 10:09 AM

~I truly enjoyed this poem. Your descriptions are wonderful...I do have to say that although this isn't the point of your poem...you did mention something about a freedom cart....Yes!!!...that's what I use my car as. When things get crazy...I take off,... drive...and write. Awesome.

Michael

Moderator

Member Rara Avis

since 1999-08-13

Posts 7666
California

3 posted 2000-04-30 11:38 AM

THis poems takes you along for the ride. Excellent depictions - felt like I was there.

Michael

AVANTI
Senior Member

since 2000-02-02

Posts 664
INDIA/MAHARASHTRA/PUNE

4 posted 2000-05-01 08:19 AM

very descriptive...
I personally loathe hunting...

If all was light...then I would have never learnt the dark...from which such truth evolves
from which evolves the light...
Avanti Rao

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