Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

All the lonely people.
Hey, what you got against them?
Seems they never quite work it out.
They seem distant and static in motion,
rely too much on kindness of strangers.
They never quite find the time or place
to plant, to grow their own.
They can't shuck the road.

The road, singular myth.
Sometimes randomness overflows.
One of the loneliest places I ever saw
were miles of empty striped asphalt.

sometimes I walk backwards on that road
half -eyed, looking for the signs that got me there
your bound to trip on some damn stone or something
whos in a hurry?
i got all those stones gathered in my jacket
keeps me from

keeps me from

remembering
the important things

forgetting the good

man, i got issues...

I got a notebook kinda:

Road
I
me Mine
and a secret nobody knows

we come in here lonely
we do what we do
sometimes we get a ripple, a reflection
some little seed we plant may start to sprout
we plant a poem, there's a jam
a raindrop
a word upon word
less alone, we smile

I find shopping centers or big supermarkets lonelier than routes!!!!

measures and smiles!

the empty, lonely road...even at 17 years old, when I was out there,
the thought provoking pavement, stark, somewhat still life scenery..
the lonely feeling that you're the only one on the planet.....yea, I can almost see the ghosts in this piece...too real

Walt, I remember wanting to feel like I was the only one on the planet. Some of the places I went came close. I don't know if I was as lonely there as I was on, say, the vast asphalt grid of outer Vegas suburbs.

Arcadia-- exactly! I was just talking on the mingo's board about an odd flash impression I had-- some big box electronics dealer and miles and miles of parking out on East Tropicana. It did nothing for me-- less than nothing-- (but then what does one expect from a flash impression?) I remember thinking, man, this is lonelier than that road to Chloride Cliff. So I went back and camped out for a while.

judih, you reminded me of how I miss growing my own, not that I was ever prolific or disciplined about it or anything. It just reminded me of my constant motion and wander that I can't seem to calm. But I'll find a place.

mudshark, sometimes I want a road where it looks the same in any direction. And then I want to stay there until I begin to notice the slightest of differences and quirks of wind.

Nazz,

I've grown my own. My own food and herbs etc.

what I discovered was that in order to grow your own you need to put down roots

so I bought some naked land and I grew a house and a garden and a secret garden underground

I called the place Temporary, Texas because I couldn't quite get the idea of the road out of my head

haven't you ever come upon a crossroad, toss the knife in the air,
and took the way it pointed to? Or drive 100 miles, turn right,
drive another 100 miles...repeat-repeat? Gasused to be .63/gal.
those were the days

justwalt wrote:haven't you ever come upon a crossroad, toss the knife in the air,
and took the way it pointed to? Or drive 100 miles, turn right,
drive another 100 miles...repeat-repeat? Gasused to be .63/gal.
those were the days

you must be a youngster
I remember gas at 19 cents a gallon
and my knife is rusty from playing mumbledepeg

don't know what I am, once the odometer went over 100k, I
quit countin'

First thing that comes to mind..."The Thinker." I mean, I felt myself imitating his position after I read this.
I mean, the asphalt is just that. Man-made.
An image to awaken your un man-made mind..?
Indeed Nazz, a compelling piece.
H

nazz, your poem, plus images planted by walt (turkish soul festival) and clay (cirque du soleil), and yeah...the crazy girl in me wants to fly...so here, it came out like this:

...call me a butterfly. a gypsy. a bird. i don't care. but right now, i dream of the road. i want to fly. i thought i had a home until i got lonely...lonely is a bubble in my head. i sit cross legged. i bounce. i see people. so silent in me. so loud. i planted things that didn't grow. too many times. a few flowers to show. then comes winter and all is dead again. sometimes i can smell "alive" at the fair...if i could dance like a thing with feathers. dust and raindrops in the air. no, it's nothing as fancy as that. i just yearn for something different sometimes. the gypsy spirit calls me, she whispers in my hair. "fly...fly, my pretty. fly away way way." it's days like that, when the road is nowhere to be found. and i am a bird locked in a cage, key in my own hand...

I'm smiling over here Smile Girl

this is so lyrical
it floats off the tongue
I'm gonna have to see how Afrikaans translates into Texian
soon as I get a mic I'll record it
maybe for the new S8 Radio show

cool let me know how that goes...