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Open Poetry #33

Slow Times on I-285

Effigy
Member

since 2000-04-11

Posts 486
disbelief

0 posted 2004-09-13 09:27 PM

Monday afternoon traffic
flows,
slows,
creeps,
crawls,
stops
still.
Stealing time away
from other more sought after
activities and adventures. Just
a dead river of metal
through the heart of the city.
Scenery blurs and fades away
cars become the same, card board
boxes piloted by zombies with blank stares.
These are slow times.

Minutes creep by hour by hour,
mundane becomes the normal
pace of life, love and existence.
Time is all but told by the number
of cigarette butts smoldering in
the ash tray. How long have
we been together?

But it’s a commitment.
We push through each
towards some common
goal, the proverbial pot
of gold at the end of the rainbow.
Traffic begins to move
boxes begin to smooth their
edges and change their colors.
Cars emerge from the blurred
and distorted background, piloted
by irritated people who have a fondness
for displaying their highly pronounced
middle finger.

Midnitesun

Member Empyrean

since 2001-05-18

Posts 28647
Gaia

1 posted 2004-09-13 10:15 PM

So much going on in this, hard to identify my favorite lines. But this is a standout:

quote:
Minutes creep by hour by hour,
mundane becomes the normal
pace of life, love and existence.
Time is all but told by the number
of cigarette butts smoldering in
the ash tray. How long have
we been together?

*sigh* sometimes there are lots of bumps on life's road
an excellent write, good to read you again

passing shadows
Member Empyrean

since 1999-08-26

Posts 45577
displaced

2 posted 2004-09-14 01:01 AM

kinda like a dream sometimes

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