Destination

August 28, 2012

Time’s Door

Photo by Edward Weston 1939

the coastal terrain whizzes
by in my effort to catch up
to claim time as my ally

drift wood laden shores
with rocky strewn beaches
such alien distant creatures

my car picks up speed on
straightaways, slowing down
on curves the car sways

when will i reach destination
unknown a room with a key
time once again has flown

walking on the sandy beach
salt spray, shells and stone
i no longer feel alone

my thoughts weave about the
elusive tide of time’s door
plying soul and spirit’s core

reaching inside to pull my
heart throughout times’ eternity
journey’s calm is wrought

as though the sea winds have
wrapped me within their embrace
helping me again to face

a world where the essence of
time flies capturing unnoticed
years unfurling tinctured rhyme

August 10, 2012August 10, 2012

Reflections Mirrored

swirling motions of
passengers on the
dimly lit rail
i ride along
with them
unknowing

as they too ride along
with me
some with lunch boxes
others their
sleeping bags
disheveled

all people like me
yet “not”
like me at all
seeing the lines of
my reflection
moving outside

staring back at me
a parody
a shadowy spector
looking past at
other people’s
reflections

sleeping, talking, happy,
sad or angry with
lives moving
forward while
their
sillouttes

face them trapped
inside the rail
glass…hoping this
ride will
end……
differently?!?

perhaps she will not
go to work a
mirror of
every yesterday
and he not
to the mission

again seeking food,
company or a
hot shower
to wash away
his homeless
tired life

each one seeking
another path
a way out of
the same tomorrow
hoping reflections
outside

are their real lives
going somewhere
a destination
past their stop
to another
future

Renee Espriu

January 22, 2012

#21 Small Stone: Silent Tracks

Trains sounding in the
distance of darkest
night remind me of
how many tracks are
now abandoned left
silent without wheels
without destination

Small Stone for WOHA at

http://writingourwayhome.ning.com

September 29, 2011

Every morning waiting for the rail
carrying his briefcase with a look
indicative of appearances with
dress slacks, warm coat and slighty
worn dress shoes to show sometimes
clean, sometimes wrinkled, a look
overly tired and too apprehensive

Every morning riding up the hill to
debark and walk ever so slowly up
to unknown destinations to a job
not really there to return every
night to ride the rail down the hill
to carry his briefcase to another
place, a pillow used beneath his head

Every day this gentleman rides the rail with me but after watching him for a time it did not take long to notice that the briefcase is merely something hopeful. I don’t believe he really even has a home.