slowdrive-la
Exploring highways and biways
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Burn
Hot desert winds blow
Wildfires burn
Out of control
Birds fly going nowhere
Feathers blown smooth
Rendered useless
Forward motion denied
By swirling dust bowl heat
Blue jean clad legs bake
Cloth clinging to seared skin
As scorched limbs search for respite shade
On a cracked yellow patio
Heaving with parched nausea
While gritty eyes squint
Seeking a purple blue vision
Of clawing hissing greenery
Enslaving twigs scratching at windows
Demanding entrance
Etching sacrilegious patterns on the panes
And the hound sniffs the air
Confused by flustered smokey scents
Body chucking their way into her
Hot dry snout
But the brown mud hole yard remains calm
Skulking under the radar
Barely kissed by movement
Last day of April
Waiting for May
©kcasady2014
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Dear Children
Dear children
Your job is to keep me young
Please do everything possible to make it so
Keep snapchatting pictures of your new nail color and turning me on to new fandoms
Keep sharing 90s indie rock and facetiming with me
Above all
Keep humoring me
Even if I am forty years older than you
I like feeling cool even though I probably am not
It’s nice to appear hip to other moms
Who don’t have a clue about instagram
Or to become the Iphone maven to old flip phone users
I rather like it when my fellow 20-something tutors
Say I never to cease to amaze them when I share that
I’m done with neon pink hair extensions
So passé
So even when I am a really old lady
Grey and decrepit
To the degree that I am able
Please make sure to keep me young
Whatever that may look like
I don’t have a clue
I am not there yet but I will be
Inevitability steps in
Like it or not
And if my memory fails me
Please tell the world that you know I remain young in my heart and soul
And when I am gone
Please tell everyone how I stayed young because of you
©kcasady2014
Labels:
aging,
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generations,
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Monday, April 28, 2014
Rumble
A rumble
Distant
Dropping from the sky
Echoing from its dark vault
Vague and pulsating
So subtle
The hound barely heard it
But her ears pricked up
She craned her long neck
Trying to sense its source
A deep throated growl
Rolling out against the clouds
Kids count one one thousand
Two one thousand
Between the lightening and the thunder
Laughing through dreadful storms
Making light of drenching rain
While imagining pending doom
Of a squadron of ancient propeller airplanes
Droning through thick choking air
Bombardiers tightening grips
Squinting through their sights
Releasing deadly hail upon their enemies
A welcome sight to cadaverous prisoners of war
Straining to see through dark swollen eyelids
Allowing themselves a momentary sigh of relief
As the ground shakes beneath their cages
From the bowels of the earth
As tectonic plates shift
Punching each other
Who will win this battle of magma and slag
Cloaking continents in a fresh crust
As buildings crumble upon shrieking bodies
And the rumble
From somewhere
Drifts back to nowhere
And the hound goes back to sleep
©kcasady2014
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Truth
Lies belay the truth
Replaces it with myth
That ripens into folklore
Truth adheres to nothing
Heedlessly retreating
Breaking into the tiniest of molecules
Floating noiselessly
Drifting further apart
Until time casts it out
And the universe replaces it with nothing
©kcasady2014
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Money Speaks
Someone said her mother never wanted to get pregnant
Fear kept her from that state
The dread of child birth
The discomfort of carrying a baby
Or was it mental imbalance
As her father said
The early shock treatments she endured
Hoping to put her mind back together
Both perhaps
The imbalance causing an unfounded dread
Public agencies declaring her too irrational for approval
Resorting then to the secret world of private adoptions
Where no guidelines existed for proving worthiness
And only money spoke
©kcasady2014
Labels:
adoption,
imbalance,
irrational,
lies,
mental illness,
money,
money speaks,
mother,
musings,
napowrimo,
nationalpoetrymonth,
poems,
poetry,
poets,
pregnant,
prose,
slowdrive-la,
wordsmiths,
writers,
writing
Friday, April 25, 2014
Inamoratas
Dear sir
Really you must be stopped
Before you've run out of parts to play
The ones you like
Where you can be quirky
Showcase your physicality
Where intellect conspires with charm
And you use your enticing grin to fool and befuddle
Where the myth of you leaves your singular audience exhausted
And your manfulness folds up and goes home
Really sir
You must be stopped
You leave behind a deep swath piled with unfinished inamoratas
©kcasady2014
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