Skip to main content

On the Road Again

 

 See Live First Rendition Here

If I say it once, I’m thinking aloud.

If I say it twice, I probably like the sound.

Three times said, you know I’d be glad.

When the fourth time comes, she’d better run.

I take the fifth for what I’d do

If my desires don’t come true.

Multiplied by ten,

I’m on the road again.

Life is too short to be faking

All the love we should be making.

When I picked you out, you knew what to do,

When you chose me, you certainly could see

I wasn’t one who’d regret what I’d done

Following the world around the sun,

That’s how it was back then.

Now I’m on the road again.

We never should retire when life inspires.

Never look away when love comes to play.

It’s better to feel wanted than taken for granted.

Plants need watering to grow where they are planted,

Or else they wither and blow away,

Scattering seeds somewhere another day,

Another place conductive to stay,

A place to grow a new stem,

I’m on the way; on that road again.

It is no use sitting around and wondering,

What either of us might have done wrong.

Wonders turn to blunders,

When they are left alone.

No one is to blame if one remains the same,

And one decides to roam and find a new flame,

The home life we sustained,

The children that we trained,

Our legacy remains

When I’m on the road again.

 

February 24, 2021

Visit My Author Page 

  Visit My Website
Copyright © 2021 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

To a local shrub with roots so deep

  See first live rendition here Can a transplanted tree afford to lose rain To a local shrub with roots so deep? Wide and far in its reach To the sandy soil of the settler’s beach Where an ancient ship wrecked at sea Spilled its seeds on fertile soil Grew a forest in a far flung land Bearing fruit carried away Depleted and thinned towards extinction A foreign tree lost its distinction Without maintenance Till a leaf in the breeze was all that remained And the sweet taste that bloomed was soon forgotten Becoming an eyesore not worth kindling As lonely it had become as could be Yet just north across the tropic of Cancer In a temperate zone with a kind of its own So much density the forest did see With its own kind thriving naturally Through storms and droughts and falling outs   Wandering offspring in wind settling in Unpicked fruit fallen to the ground For anyone who’d lost their doubt This is how culture comes about As ship-wreck...
Post a Comment
Read more

Love on an express train with a local ticket

  Love is like being on an express train With a local ticket and no reservation. One stop you sit chillin’ as soon as it starts; It takes you for a little while and a little while more. Next stop? Get up to find another seat at the door; Maybe the next stop will be the end of the line, So rock her down till the rollin’ stops,   When you seem too familiar and kind. Too hungry to sit and hard-pressed to move on, It is done before you reach your destination. Perhaps you sit on the floor transfixed Or stand in the vestibule near the toilets. When you’ve opened your eyes to the world you created, It is half past late for the ride to go that way. Without faith and vision no place goes well. From car two, aisle-seat nineteen you move, To car two, seat twenty-six window move, Third stop, to car four, no seat at all; Two-thirds of your life down the line. Red signal reflection on how your trip’s been going. The train may reach your station too so...
Post a Comment
Read more

Bridging Bajiang's Embankments

See live rendition here Watch a ride across the wood bridge here Two bike bridges across shallow estuary water the sea salt flows into the steppe of Alishan From Fengqihu where eight fingers stream into one To funky flatlands meandering down through Chiayi In wild weeds overgrown from the last rainy date a bird flies shyly with no more than a song from a dried tree with nothing much to fawn an egret stands in muck wondering where to look but the smell of an ah-ma's fragrant garden invites him to drink nectar from her spine and I too feel refreshed on this bike path bench on the brink of fording muddy waters thirsting for a drench of plum rain showers when the deluge swallowd all in a cinch and typhoon rains will pound it like a fist Whipping winds across the bridges' suspensions their anchorages in danger of being dislodged again or moving not an inch of span reconnected as I am starting to make ends meet till the time when it is no longer hers or mine but weighed discreetly o...
Post a Comment
Read more