LuvB2URoad

January 11 2016 PHX PHL WFL 673 Modfied

Miles to go before I can pause
My companion the road holds me safely in its embrace
Asphalt lover unwinding beneath my tires
How I love to be grounded and rolling

LuvB2URoad
Where all is possible in your flowing lanes
Where adventure and possibility are waiting
Where miles evaporate in Mindfulness Meditation
And my muses dance on the pavement
Rubber, creativity, and road are the happy trio
As I grab my voice recorder and take another note

My mind dances so freely between those lines
That make up each lane
I feel it speeding so rapidly no matter
The limits imposed by signs I whiz by or drift past
Ensconced in my moving pod
I playing songs over and over again
As thoughts, images, and lines of dialogue
Burst forth and make their way to my lips
And digital recorder

Transient car and truck cities moving inspire me
As we jockey for position
Swearing laughing and smiling at each other
Though the professionals pay us no mind
For them the road is a thirty-thousand pound office

At times, a million miles left is a welcome break
At others, one mile seems more like swatch of asphalt
Stretching infinitely painfully beyond breaking
Over so many damned hills and equally as damned valleys
Never surrendering a hint as to its hoped-for end
At those times, it is a vapid creative purgatory
Limbo untouched by favorite songs or phone calls

LuvB2URoad as you simultaneously take me
Away from and lead me to wonderful worlds
Corporeal, imagined, and metaphysical
My journey limited only by the gas in my tank

Going, going, going
Flowing, flowing, flowing
While fully swaddled
In my rolling meditation temple

 

Copyright (c) 2019.  All rights reserved.
Photo: Infinity’s Road (Lehigh Tunnel, 2015)

 

Without Pen (No Life I)

There calls me
Solitude needs me
I need nothing
I need no one

Pen in my hand
I am complete
Soul bursting to leak out
Without Pen
(No life I)

Words, approximations
Of here and now
Moments lost
Like unrepentant ghosts
This soul I bleed
Through my pen’s point
In life’s forests

Without a word
(No life I)
Instead living without description
Sensing without meaning
Flowing into a void
So lost so dead

My letters are my words
Are my sentences are my paragraphs
Are my pages are my books
Are my collections
Are my soul are my essence
Growing to places beyond
The ground scraping
My belly and the sun
Burning my skin

I am
I am me
I am you
I am us just then
In that blessed union
Of pen to paper
Of fingertip to keyboard
Of words
Of worlds
Joining me to you
Though no one can compete
With all those worlds
Inside my head
That I keep discovering
While contemplating
No one living being

Still I shall
Leave you crumbs
Shaped like letters
On the floor
Of this forest
Read my words
Embrace your worlds
Hurry hurry
Hurry before
Ravens and crows
Eat them all

 

Copyright © 2018 by John David Higham: All Rights Reserved
Photo: EXIT 152 (July 2018)

Barbeque with a Side of Poetry (Hold the LSD): Halloween 2015

October 31 2015 Windfall 077

Ribs,
Pulled pork,
Barbeque chicken
Filled my plate, my stomach.
My ears were filled by
The Eagles singing
About living in
That fast
Lane.

A
Paper
Tablecloth
Was my Tabula Rosa,
A
Crayon
Was a pen,
Was then MY pen.

Barbeque with poetry
(Hold the LSD):
My soul, gut
Full.
I smiled,
Seeing words
Dancing across
The brown paper.

Was
All so
Funny, so
Nicely surreal.
A blissful journey:
Barbeque and poetry
(That was now my LSD).
Muses dancing with
Me in Callears as
I ate, indulged
With these
Folks.

The
Quiet
Couple
At the next
Table, enjoying
Their Texas Briskets
As I watched their meal,
Watching their hands
Talk with forks
And nodding
Their heads
(A “Yes”
Now).

There’s
The family:
Dad, Mom, Sis,
And Sis gazing at
Their menus. Sis One
Has a Smartphone and
Is again checking
For some thing
Soon ignored
As Mom
Talks.

And then
The Eagles sang,
The background music
Like a lyrical invitation
For my crayon pen
To dance out
Words.

Whilst
My world
Was prepared
For Halloween,
For Smartphones,
I was just living poetry
And looking beneath
The masks all over
My world today
(Again, again)
As I ate ribs
And was.

My
Poetry:
My mask.
My worlds:
My salvation,
A perfect balance.
Writing is straddling
Both waking and dreams
Both thinking and feeling
Both movement and stillness.
Barbeque, tunes, and poems
Amidst plastic plates
Will eternally
Kick ass.

When My Inner Wind

October 31 2015 Windfall 060

When my Inner Wind
Is no longer yelling
And I’m no longer
Pulling at this world
With all my letters and words.

When my hands
Are reaching for the sky
And I watch my fingers
Turn into sparkling dust
Woven into the rainbows.

When my lungs
Fill with more than air
And my thoughts stop
Stopping me.

When I become my dreams
And my prayers become buffalo
Bringing me abundant lightness.

When I see The Angels dancing
Just beneath my bedtime ceiling
And my eyes become otherwise useless.

When my minutes and hours mean nothing
And I am pulled away
From all those titles, histories
And objects that had defined me.

When my soul’s eyes open
Infinitely within each moment,
Seeing the subtly of the
Inner child inner breeze
And I allow all worlds
To flow through
Me one letter at a time.

When I am the loyal dog
To me and those on my path
That I may sound warning barks
As strangers approach
And I embrace their scent.
When innocence returns
Like a cascade of future recollections
And now empty past predictions
Moving beyond my intuitive self.

When meanings becomes meaningless,
Thoughts become music, and
Work evolves into whimsical play.

Then, and only then
Will my Inner Wind
Gently embrace you,
Gently embrace the many me
Without either of us knowing it.

Then is only here and now.
See The Hierophant
Is upside down…