Sunday, August 21, 2011

Highway Rider

Bike.
Buzzed on beer.
Buttons black leather jacket.

Speed.
Stargazing.
Shedding all inhibitions.

Slow.
Succumbing
Steadily to alcohol.

Swerve!
Split-second.
Suddenly thrown into air.

Blood.
Broken bones.
Barely alive at nineteen.



5 comments:

Munir said...

This is really sad. I had once written a poem called "The Highway Wreath" and blogged it in the T section of the A to Z challenge for bloggers. My be I can send it to you. You seem to like poetry. It is a good way of comunication. Keep up. Take it from a sixty year old, poetry can keep you feeling young. Cheers

pri said...

these broken strings of words have an effect more powerful than you can imagine...
that is the magic of poetry!!!

keep writing :)



Love in the times of samsung galaxy tab
check this out and do vote for it (promote it on indiblogger) if you like it...

cheers!

Cynthia said...

Yikes! An excellent warning poem.

Kippy Marrie said...

Olá...
Gostei de seu blog. Achei bonito e belas poesias.
Venha conhecer meu blog e ser minha amiga SEGUIDORA, estou te seguindo, ok?
Moro no Brasil e me chamo KIPPY, sou uma York e a mamãe me ajuda a escrever o blog, onde levamos alegria e distração a todos.
AMAMOS fazer amigos em todo o mundo.
VENHA NOS SEGUIR E SER NOSSO AMIGO.
Espero voce.
Aus 1000 com amor do Brasil...

KIPPY

Marita Abraham said...

@Munir, Pri and Cynthia.

Thank you for the kindness. Do come back soon!

Poetry

when language like bubbling streams flow




when words are laid down to fit like lovers' hands




when you feel the essence of the poet from within




when swirling thoughts are caught in the net of rhythm



when images reel as you read




when pen and paper create a symphony




then, it is poetry
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