Journeys to Nowhere

The sky was dark and the rain pelted the windshield.
The crackling sound was punctuated by the whoosh whoosh whoosh of the wiper blades.

Journeys to nowhere
and the interminable
winter storms. Attend

to the road, for you never know where it will end
and sometimes the potholes are deep.

Be safe, child.
There are detours ahead.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2020

Comments

Post a Comment

Your comments and feedback are welcome. Please be sure to be respectful.

Popular posts from this blog

And so it Goes (Haibun)

Rainy day and troubles, sick dog, messages from a friend. Sigh. Things and things and things to do. And so it goes. Even in gray, the sun dawns. The healing pulse helps. Listen to the voice within. You. can. do. this. It's a dark heart day. Stir your coffee. Stir your mind as well. Start again. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2018
Read more

Valentine Sonnet

Valentine Sonnet She’s the shy girl in her scuffed Mary Janes watching for lacy pink “Be Mine” hearts drop into the gold painted glitter-filled box, nervously holding her breath, but in vain. Her valentine box is ready to gain blood-red Sweethearts, frilled hearts, on her desktop. She’s waiting for Prince Charming’s step to stop in front of her freckle-faced grin, again. Now she’s the very same girl who’s so learned, no matter how much gold is spray painted or how long for Prince Charming she’s waited. that love is not found in boxes and verse, but in moments of heart filled connection, and in moments of tingling affection. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019
Read more

On the Sale of Our Sailboat (Sonnet)

On the sale of our sailboat, dreams soaring away, on a run, in the wind, sad to see the horizon approach; the sun behind me shines a light on the breeze and me laughing out loud at the seemingly lazily floating by world. Past the mem’ries of days when we soaked in the warmth of the sun, glad to be kissing air, tanning skin, long brown hair blowing back, catch the wind, feel the speed, trust the tack. The elation of fun, when the boat caught a run, in the moment by moment days when we won the world and the wind, and our lives, looking back, the horizon ahead and our faith in our ride. Now, the blue's not the sea but our aging betide. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019
Read more