The clouds sink
obscuring hills with billows:
silver, grey, charcoal, black.
Heavy clouds in cold air
ready to coat the highway with danger.
We gaze out our windows
wondering whether we’ll get home before
the first storm of this winter.
poem- winged October 5, 2016
I.
On the side of the highway
an outstretched wing
unfurled black
feathers twitch in the breeze
that no longer lift it.
.
II.
On the side of the highway
unfurled curls of black
tires lie.
In the wind of passing traffic,
unwound wires twitch.
I blink.
What
exactly
did I see?
poem-white November 16, 2015
Streaks of white flash past my windshield
like I’m entering hyper-space,
hoping not to be hit by space debris
(or other cars)
’cause that’d end my trip real quick, wouldn’t it?
No one really likes driving the highway home
through a snowstorm.
Where’s Han Solo when you need him?
poem- quilted drive April 15, 2014
I drive a lime aphid
along a grey ribbon,
through rippling hills
and valleys of
green velvet
along teal satin waters
beneath a blue silk sky
dusted with tufts of batting fluff.
.
.
(The aphid is actually a Beetle, but the colour is right). 😉
poem- dark road March 20, 2014
When the road is dark
illuminated only be the narrowest of beams
look above to the sparkling canopy of stars
and ahead to the distance glow
and know
illumination is out there.
poem-waiting in line March 11, 2014
Another car
goes ice dancing
swirling
spinning
from one side of the road to the other
Sending inhabitants flying
in the death spiral.
Stop! Accident scene!
and I must wait
First in line
While 3 ambulances
2 fire trucks
2 marked police cars
4 unmarked police cars
and 2 tow trucks
sort everything out
45 mins late for work
this morning
but thankful
not to be
in one of the ambulances.
I was doing that
ice dance in the same place yesterday.
One moment we are travellers
the next we are dancers
facing a sudden stop
and a different journey.
Shawn L. Bird 