Seven Road III-V

Below you will find Parts III-V of Seven Road, which mark the conclusion of this narrative poem (see Part I and Part II). I do hope you’ve found this magical little journey enjoyable. I have grown quite close to this poem during the time I’ve been working on it. And I strongly believe it should be read at once, in its entirety; so, I’ve attached a full text copy here for anyone who would like to do so (the formatting of the final portion is also much better in the pdf). Additionally, a link to the full text will appear in the sidebar, at least for now. The image above (and also the cover art for the pdf version) was created by a very talented friend of mine, the same artist who created the illustration for Lo Air. Thank you, T. Blake, for lending your talents to this project–and this poem, in particular–a true labor of love for me.


III.

it was the Sunday before my
thirtieth birthday (as i remember it) 
and the air spilled like gold
over that great white wind highway 
the prophet man called Seven Road

you see those faces, he says,
plodding through the dust-filled spiral below
they only want to be themselves, 
and to be yourself is a road
you gotta go alone because, child,
there ain’t no such place as home
or a one-way ticket to ride
anywhere worth going
‘cause dreams were made for walking
and walking with the soul is home

now listen and listen good 
(both hands waving like 
some kind of squirrely magician), 
you see the most in this 
world when you’re not lookin’ for it
all the direction you need is
written in the stillness—
that’s the key to everything and
nobody’s going to give it to you—
no teacher
no mentor
no president, pastor 
or certified life coach
‘cause everybody’s tongues are tangled
nowadays from trying too hard to sound
hip and 
postmodern and 
unintelligibly 
trendy

this world is full of empty music and the only tune 
you’ve got to beat to is fixed right there
in the soles of those boots! *points down like he’s 
staring into the eyes of the devil*
we’re all made of fairy dust and tinfoil
baby girl, you’re a glisten in the sun,
bones of rock and magic 
and soulful living is no different from loving
our hearts beat for both the same

i stopped to think that if my
soul has a beat, it probably sounds a
lot like “Tusk,” so i reached for my
Fleetwood Mac double LP 
and flipped right to side four
real savage-like…

but i sensed our visit was coming to an end
i could read it in the cotton candy of the 
clouds, in the film of the nightfall stretching 
across the prophet man’s brow
though we were hitching a ride on a breeze 
and the night was young and 
full of fire, i could see that man had an ache 
for something he just couldn’t shake

IV.

and he left me there silent before a
mucked up street sign, past a tunnel, through a 
field of pale dead flowers, the night smelled 
pink and burning as that old carpet full of 
pixie dust sailed off behind me
making contrails of the sun

just then, a feeling rose up in me i can’t explain, 
like a voice that hurdled up through 
sediment and stone, and the sky crystallized with signs 
in a great tangle of fireflies, a language that flashed 
through my bones and peered out from under the blue
and i stopped right there on the side of Seven Road 
and i’ll be damned but the stillness spoke 
just like that wild-headed saint told me it would
from red to green to orange to white 
(like that great technicolor bowtie of his)

i lost myself in my
own forgetfulness
great symphony of signs
and all was 
	sky
and all was 
	music
flayed 
	language
like the finest 
guitar solo 
you’ve ever heard… 

first
	a bearing		
	a simple stirring
string	skipping		shred 
	transcribe	broadcast 
		syllable
	the earth is moving
a world on the tip of a tongue
	whirlwind 	breath-wind 

cast off the night in a tomb 
great white exorcist 
	sunflower	skeleton 
face encircled by fire
	a mother’s face

you are the ribbon written in her hair

eight in one 
			million 
rejected thoughts
peacekeeper		eye-catcher

maker of legends and fire
	womb		children of dust
the earth will be your bible

melody	
	grappling
climbing	
	sighing
never reaching
	steeping
steering 
	controlling
never forgiving
	holding
the matchstick of time 
	tick-tock	mindstop
spinning out of control
a hand not taming 		
striking
	enticing		pillaging  
precipitating

giving form to all that is holy
				you
a kiss on the ring
	fatherless	barren
	seedless		forgetting

you are the great seed that shatters all fables

seven times chasing
seven dog-good nights
seven deadly whys
seven unheard lullabies
catching roots on the bottom of the skin

sky is dove 
				shaft
mind is red
	eyeless		innocent
in a sweep of heat
two proud thieves
rob us of all our sins

V.

suddenly, the record stopped
and the taste of fresh coffee returned to my tongue
the white witch remade the bed,
handed me a smile 
and a pen

*Original artwork by T. Blake

10 thoughts on “Seven Road III-V

  1. ” ‘cause dreams were made for walking
    and walking with the soul is home” you’ve captured something profound by opening up to it. it reminds me of alice in wonderland, lucy in the sky with diamonds, and fury road all rolled into one. The painting by your friend is magical as well.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh, thank you very much. This was one of those pieces (as I’m sure you can relate) that I really poured my soul into. And, yes, Tim is a wonderful artist. Whenever one of my poems inspires him, I feel blessed! 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s