Gudelines: A Poem of Direction

Last night, in an old stone church, which was formerly a restaurant in New Paltz, I read wo poems for Open Mic night and wanted to share one with you. The musicians were really fabulous with an eclectic assortment from blues to Fleetwood Mac. Try to picture the atmosphere with candles reflecting off the stone and people bundled up drinking their tea or coffee.

Guidelines

Propelling this two ton metallic monster

along grey, misty morning pavement; nature prevails

Reducing the beast to a caterpillar crawl, inching its way.

Like a blind badger's eyes, straining

to penetrate the shrouded veil.

Searching for that guiding white line, to keep from

hurling headlong to heaven, before I belong there.

The artist's eye wanders fascinated at the images created by the mist, drawn into the dappled light and shadowed canvas.

Lost in fall's foggy fragmented images and all too clear memories

of speeding tickets, not heading to posted speeding zones,

These eyes do not behold the beauty of red stop signs or caution,

Justifying lawlessness when..

Racing tires jerk me back to reality as tires skid on scattered stones,

I tell myself "Slow down, you're going too fast, got to make the morning last." Echoes in the chambers of my mind.

When rushing headlong,

 Keep those eyes focused on the white guidelines.

They keep you on track to your destination.

Misty mornings train more than just the artist's eye.