“They settle into the seats around me
and make themselves comfortable.
They nudge, prod and poke
but I ignore them.
The memories want me
to pay them attention
to take me somewhere I’ve already been
and don’t care to go back to.
They speed me down the track
faster than this train is accustomed,
faster than I can put a stop to.”
The first memory is safe.
(Edited excerpt from No Hill for a Stepper)📕
The photo was taken a year ago during my visit to Italy.🇮🇹
I do hope, that in reality, this young woman’s memories were good ones.🙏🏽
… and to, metaphorically speaking, keep your headlights on and your eyes on the road ahead.
I took this photo last September while in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina.
… Have you traveled somewhere exciting lately?
Yes, in my imagination to here:
painting by CD-W
Entering a port in Stockholm, Sweden
Come on, now. I’m not cheating on this daily prompt. These patrons needed a Passport to get to PORT-ugal.
Clenching didn’t keep my teeth from chattering. Why hadn’t I hadn’t waited until the warmth of spring? I knew the reason. One more day with Uncle Dirk would have driven me to the lunatic asylum. What right did he have to judge me?
Electric streetcar rails made circular Patterns on the paved intersections of busy streets while the trolley bells deafened my rural ears. Businesses of every kind lined up one after another. Many even shared common walls. Strolling women wore feathers and stuffed birds attached to their hats and paraded them down the street like migrating nests. Barouche carriages transported men and women in their finery. At least the clamor and jangle of wagons pulled by tired horses reminded me of home.
Excerpt from The Last Bordello, historical fiction
Mario didn’t want a Replacement for his missing tooth. I’m glad. Because when I met him in Italy, he was perfect the way he was.
painting by me, CDW
Rummaging through my hoarding stacks of old journals and writings, I found another poem so you can Pillage through my words.
Side View Mirror
In a side view mirror with a dark side view
I’m driving down the highway and I’m thinking of you
I see a reflection
of a past I once knew
in a side view mirror with a dark side view.
And the clean rain falls
as it washes this place
while the moisture softens this hard luck face
But the scenery flies by
leaving nothing but a trace
As the clean rain falls on a tear-stained face.
Yellow stripes and concrete,
tumble weeds and dust
Gulf stream winds
blow back the bangs of lust
Passing cars of those
you think you’ll never meet
Leave a lasting first impression on the cracked leather seat.