Poet's Home             All Poetry       Sign Up!  Login
© 2000-2019 Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors.   318239 Poems Read.

Search for Poetry


Read Poetry
cat speech

The Little Bird Said

A Start Again...(I Green-Dreamed Again Last Night)

two out of three people

Lonesome Love

All The Changing....


Night Train

Some Children Have Nightmares (tentative title)

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

A Dog Should Have His Tail...

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Checking Out


Hope Is Sometimes The Best Of All You've Got (definition poem)

Last Night

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month


Only The Choice To Be

When People Go

The Day You Left (Words From A Half-Remembered Dream)

Wake Wake Wake

It Is In The Rain

Dream Goblins Of The Night

Wake And Remember

Unwelcomed Like So Much Unfinished Business

In March (Finally, Spring 2016)

All For Algernon

Weak In The Knees

The Finisher's Song

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

More Poetry >>


  Sign Guestbook

Read Guestbook


Taking A  Long Journey to Nowhere To Return


Notice, how I
woke up feeling odd today...
like I had grown some alien DNA.
Nearly all the people around me looked different...
their pigments had changed dramatically
as if overnight they'd turned
gentian and cerulean blue.

As I started to comment my tongue wouldn't move,
and only rain, not words fell out.
I rushed to the mirror and found only broken teeth
And a silence growing inside me began to try to shout.
It is time to move on
to find a different kind of space.

So I saddled up my best and bravest mule.
Gathered up my words of poetry/
Then headed straight for the Steens
to hopefully settle into a more silent kind of grace,
onto a destination where a ghost town lays.
A place where the west wind does nearly most of the talking.
A place where the stars decorate the horizon like jewels.
A place where words are merely a vast extension of the silences.
A place where I would be the only other person for 300 miles.
Except for an Artist and his oatmeal-colored dog,
unless I decided to discover my own desert ghost town.

I have lived
for far too many years
on my own worn edges
and have found them nearly frayed.

Had I stayed too long in the presence
of aliens
maybe I would have become one.
Do I no longer recognize myself?

I cannot risk this loss.

I must now
take a long journey to nowhere
to return

to me, to my bliss.


Copyright February 6 2015 All Rights Reserved By This Author
In Honor of Artist and Painter John Simpkins and his dog Phoebe
All poetry/prose/rants are the legal property of this writer
Thank you for reading. Thank you John Simpkins for inspiring me.
Thank you Creator/God for my dreams for helping me write this intuitive poem.

I am not certain if the Steen are a group of mountains or a portion of
the desert in a mountainous area where John has settled and made his permanent
home. He lives in the abandoned town called Andrews. The nearest civilization
is 300 miles away and he likes it that way. Its his triumvirate way of living-man,
dog, environment and it works very well for him. I admire him for his simplicity
and how it is leant itself to a greater intuitiveness and creativity to his art.
Images and events show up in his paintings and then happen later in real life.

Edited February 8th 2015 6:19 pm.

Vote for this poem

Please Comment On This Poem


 Email Address


Vote for this poem