How to Travel Route 50, the Loneliest Road in America

How to Travel Route 50, the Loneliest Road in America

 

Forget your favorite underwear and plush throw--

it's hard to find comfort in a thin bicycle seat

and sleeping bag, and it can't be what you're after.

 

A friend taught me to spell words-- 'bourgeois',

'stereo' and 'poster'--to stop crying.

Pump the brakes when no one is around

and ride in between the yellow lines.

Control is everything.

 

Don't think of the life you left--

ceramic coffee mugs, routine and shaving--

adventure is what you want.

 

If you get lonely, sing. Try to bounce

the sounds off of the mountain sides.

Skip rocks in the valleys and take in

the Nevada backdrop.

 

Take time each day to think of your bike's gears

and chain, the machine that drives you forward.

When you reach the border, turn back--

notice the sun shining on the asphalt--

sizzling some bugs and only burning others.

 

-SRM, 2013 ©

 

This poem came out of a prompt given by a friend.  Requirement: write a poem about one thing, but really be talking about another.  I am lucky enough to participate in another multi-member blog so we post and then critique each others' work; I will post a revision soon.  

 

Tell us: How do you stay inspired?

 

-SM

Exquisite Corpse

(what was it I was hungry about)

What was it I was hungry about
I think the turkey in the oven, remember?
My friend said nothing is wrong
stay put, it’s a good fighting bar.
The girl walks home alone
in the dark, always beautiful and sad.
And here in the last minutes,
You can never really be sure,
but someone tightens a screw thinner
than an eyelash
and sips the juice of a grapefruit.
I sink down, as if shot, beside the ball
of its butt larded with mother-of-pearl.
There never was such a bright red ladybug
on the blinds.
Of course I will not be here long,
not the way percentages are going now

- MP & SRM, 2013 ©

This is a play off of Exquisite Corpse, which I've participated in on and off.  I first mentioned that my poet friend/best friend and I would be collaborating here, and this is our first "draft". Thoughts? I will revise and repost soon. 

"Henry VIII" Revisited

In this life, Henry, dethroned,
must struggle with his highless-ness,
the loss of velvety robes
in ruby red and royal blue,
and the stockings that hugged his muscly legs.

Now, Henry is a wounded eagle,
worn out enough that he covers
all of the mirrors in his rooms.

Devout Catherine sits on a plush sofa--
smug--sipping scotch.
She allows herself this night
and revels being on top.
Tonight, she feels like the leopard
that changes her spots, a woman in control,
and one who knows how to like it.

-SRM, 2013 ©

I've been writing this poem for at least three months, and there's still something missing in it.  One of my friends suggested two things: write many more stanzas, and/or write alternating stanzas from Catherine and Henry's positions.  I'm interested to see where it goes!

Tell us: What works for you when revising your art?

-SM