Seven Road II

I’ve been grappling with feelings of restlessness lately, with a sense that I need to experiment more, to branch out in some new directions creatively. I believe Seven Road marks the beginning of one such novel direction. I knew as soon as I finished what is now the first part of this poem that it wasn’t truly finished. I immediately felt very close to the story and sensed it needed to go on. So, I have written more. A lot more. Below is Part II. In addition, if you are re-reading Part I, you may notice some small revisions.

View the full text of this poem here.



but all this is metaphor
as you know, a crystalline dream, 
a spider vision, a man of silk and ire
and the guise of a prophet spun 
on the steps of a magic carpet with 
gilded seams and gemstones like lilies
a ruby haze
a white witch’s spell

i clung to the edges like a beggar
i wanted to hold his hand but the trees 
were flying and his hair whipped wild like a bird
a crinkle at the top of the necktie
i sensed he was born a wild man
and just might die a hero

life’s a feeling, he says, that’s all
it sits in the grooves of the fingers, 
in the space between lovers, in the kisses 
plucked like a daisy on the lips
life’s a current and we’re the ash,
and there is no wisdom 
unless you make it
unless you get down and digging 
and grab the bottom of the earth 
with your hands—that’s the jazz in it—
everything else, he says (wagging his finger 
all fiery eyed), is castles in the sand

i was starting to think he might just
up and disappear in a puff of smoke 
like some kind of wily wizard or a 
magic dragon so i figured i’d change 
my soundtrack, maybe grab myself a beer
Eric Clapton or the Traveling Wilburys
by the looks of it, we were heading straight 
for the end of the line

now, i would never encourage 
anyone to do this, but at that moment i
leapt up and let the wind take me
grabbed onto his shoulders as he took off his 
shades and i let that carpet fly out from 
under my ankles and tangoed with
the soul of the afternoon like 
the freest bird you’d ever seen
dank air lifting me cockeyed by the boots
over all the gypsies on Seven Road
as the man took off his sport coat and 
lit himself a cigar, eyes glittering like 
gunmetal in the sun

you have to walk with it, now,
dipping back down to the rucksacks, 
you gotta live the things that matter and
hold the things worth loving or they’re all 
gonna leave you empty-handed
his voice was a long, slow cup of coffee
and i suspected it had been a lifetime
since he’d last been kissed

*Original artwork by T. Blake

22 thoughts on “Seven Road II

  1. I have read the entire poem more than once. There are so many fabulous lines and places you take the reader it is hard to know where to start to discuss it… how about the first line “It was a white witch kind of Sunday”
    Your writing is an inspiration to me.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Wow, thank you very much! “Seven Road” evolved into something that’s special to me, but it started rather innocuously. The first line is partially a description of my mood at the time (it was Sunday morning, and I knew I wanted to go to a colorful, fantastical world) and part musical reference. The first of many, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. The white witch can also be Stevie Nicks. I was actually sitting in my living room listening to a bunch of 70’s rock (vinyl) at the time. I am flattered that my writing inspires you. The encouragement means a lot!


  2. The beautiful do pose questions,
    whispered upon the winds of imagination.
    The number seven is also my lucky number,
    upon a road trip never ending.
    I love the view from the window
    of your sublime writting.

    Liked by 1 person

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