Friday, June 21, 2013
Haiku Friday: Favorite road
I certainly hope you have a favorite road! Maybe you only traveled down it once, or maybe it is really just a path, or an idea, but you should have one.
My parents taught me to distrust the interstate, so I end up on small roads a lot, often slightly lost, and those roads leads to things like ferry boats, dead ends, and long, sloping downhills towards good light.
Let's write about favorite roads. Here is mine:
It was... Ohio?
Kind of lost, but not really
We never really were.
Now you go! Make it 5 syllables/7 syllables/5 syllables, and don't be shy!
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Dappled, sunlit, trees,
hayfields, rolling hills, horses,
wildflower meadows
Buzzards on thermals
Fog hangs on the horizon
The one that leads home
hayfields, rolling hills, horses,
wildflower meadows
Buzzards on thermals
Fog hangs on the horizon
The one that leads home
For Larry Reynolds Who Lead Us--
Oh cottages! your
Bones unburied grace her sides.
Green fields give her life.
The fairy tree who
Sprung up in her middle,yet,
Cut to civilize.
The busman tenor
Singing in request,whose heart
Would break if he did not,
Taking us to that boat,
which took us to Inish Mor,
To feast on saints and sea.
Oh cottages! your
Bones unburied grace her sides.
Green fields give her life.
The fairy tree who
Sprung up in her middle,yet,
Cut to civilize.
The busman tenor
Singing in request,whose heart
Would break if he did not,
Taking us to that boat,
which took us to Inish Mor,
To feast on saints and sea.
Christine--Astonishing! Congratulations,dear! I liked diadelkendall's work and also seraphim. Nice work,People!
It was called Muse Road
And she surely sang to us
Carried by an old
Jalopy...'49 Dodge
Sleek,rounded in a blaze of dust
Rising smoked gravel.
My daddy drove his
John Deere down it,field to field.
We walked barefoot in
Desert heat and marvelled
At how anything could grow
There. No rain.Hot sun.
But irrigation made
The Columbia mother
Potatoes and wheat.
And I wrote songs of
Praise and grew unafraid of
Nature.Grew to wonder.
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And she surely sang to us
Carried by an old
Jalopy...'49 Dodge
Sleek,rounded in a blaze of dust
Rising smoked gravel.
My daddy drove his
John Deere down it,field to field.
We walked barefoot in
Desert heat and marvelled
At how anything could grow
There. No rain.Hot sun.
But irrigation made
The Columbia mother
Potatoes and wheat.
And I wrote songs of
Praise and grew unafraid of
Nature.Grew to wonder.
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