TWILIGHT

A thousand miles later, and
after midnight, I pull out of the 

fog where the Texas wind has 

painted the sides of things
with a coating of snow.

In the sky, a misty moon smiles
through thin clouds to make ghosts

of the occasional semis haunting

the eastbound lanes or blowing

by me in the night.

Muddy Waters, B.B. King and

Mike Bloomfield see me through

with memories of how we danced

our slow foreplay from that blue

Wisconsin lake all the way to our

Tennessee farm and that nest we

built in the hay.

We did fine, didn’t we? Our blood in 

Flames, bellies full of beauty. Your eyes 

Painted me with Renoir red, our joy an 

excruciating fire where we did our private 

ballroom dance.

I still ache when you sneak up on me like this,

catch me unawares, surprise me with the ice of

your presence to push what’s left of who I was

into the dark and remind me of what happened 

that warm afternoon on the Llano Estacado when

you closed your eyes for the very last time.

For some reason, the sun seems late, and the

wheel is suddenly uncomfortable in my hands. 

My back hurts and the coffee, like everything

else, has soured in my stomach.

So, here I am, stuck in time, alone on this

highway listening to the blues, I just wish 

I knew where in the world I’m going.

Reviews

[Poetic Beauty]

Often in life our destination is but a mystery. When one chapter or book ends; we are left searching and trying to figure out what comes next when finality knock on the door.

It is amazing how certain little things can make us remember different times in our lives and how deeply they impact us.

This is full of scenery that paints a picture of the present moment and the past moment. The moon, the dust and the highway. The blues playing all bring the scene to life. Deeply emotional and embedded with heartfelt thought.

[Vol]

PB,
There s nothing about the past we can go back to... it might as well have not existed for all we can do to go back... none of it. Same with the future, we can only slide into its edge, we can't go in, we have only got the NOW, and it's moving fast.
Vol

[Poetic Beauty]

The now definitely moves fast except when work is involved then it seems to drag at a sloths pace.

[Michael Sun Bear]

You have written beautifully of loss, and the attempt to move on from loss. It was so powerfully written, it aroused in me a sense of dread; it reminded me of many nightmares where I wake up panting in fear for in my dream I was wandering lost in a strange land, unable to find my way home. I’m showing my age; I pictured an episode of Twilight Zone, where your narrator drives and drives, a thousand miles, another thousand, another thousand, the sun never rises, he is perpetually moving through a world of fog and snow, but getting nowhere, forced to listen to the same Oldies on the radio over and over. All the while his memories, the pain of his loss, continue to haunt him. If this is autobiographical, I hope you found, or will find, a new day of promise.

[Vol]

Michael,
Thank you, sir. All the elements of the story are true, accumulated over several trips back and forth between Nashville and Amarillo... The older I get, the more I am able to conquer the grief... I look back and can find at least four lives I've lived since 1949... probably more if I were to chapter it all out to now.
Vol

[Michael Sun Bear]

Hello Vol, I am 74, and I truly relate to your feelings about past lives and grief. I discovered you through this poem, my first, and I look forward to reading more of your work.

[Antifranticbabydoll]

Change can be good, and seeing the future isn't for us to see. We need to stay in the present and achieve daily goals. One day at a time my friend.

[Vol]

Antifranticbabydoll,

Sounds EXACTLY like what someone anti-frantic would say, The crazy world of information overload that has stolen our souls was a major theme of mine for years...
Oh, man. I have no desire to see the future, at seventy-five years old you just don't know how much of it there is...
Vol

[Lorry]

Ahh, this reminds me of summer, or what passes for summer in Scotland, when the night sky never goes black and is always just a dark blue for a few hours before it goes full on daylight about 3am.
Its always surprising to me but a good surprise, like when you remember as a kid about that fist day of autumn and you wake up thinking all the trees are dying, before remembering about Ma nature's tricks.
And who doesn't love a soundtrack of B.B. King, especially if it contains second hand women and you get to shout/sing the last line of "cos after all baby I'm a second hand man!"😃
It's good to remember though that we all have these moments when our worries get put into perspective and all in all we can say to ourselves "yeah, I might not know where I'm going, but it ain't that bad, is it? I'm doing just fine, all things considered!"

[Relic]

From your words, I see the 18-wheeler ghosts coming through the snow. The mind has no chance but to wonder sometimes when a lost love pops up. From one thought to the next, our mind has doubts and worries about the future and how the previous plans may have been changed unexpectedly.

Good writing, Vol.

[Vol]

We are all on the same road, just passing through different places...

[ETERNITY]

Oh, Volcano, the romance in this feels like warm butter,
I'm struggling to pull off my shirt and crying from reading the last 'news'.
Your words are powerful and suck me through time's tunnel and I'm right there...
I feel your ache in her icy presence...the following four lines are impossible to repeat for the sadness they invoke.
Your romantic sway, Vol, the tears are streaming and have my glasses fogged. I don't know if I should "rate" you or "berate" you. You are a wonder with words. Thanks for sharing such beauty.

[K. Louis]

This poem is quite vivid, I can almost feel the atmosphere it's describing. A nostalgic journey through different places and memories. well written. -K.

[Vol]

Thanks, K!