No Sidewalks

I have always had this thing for poetry. I love to read it, and I love write what I can. I am going to start posting a poem every once in a while. Here is my first attempt.

I grew up in a small town, a town with no sidewalks. I once had a friend who told me he never wanted to live in a place that was big enough to have paved sidewalks. "That's when people stop waving to eachother when they drive by," he said. It made me stop and think about what I love about living in a rural place, and this poem came out of it. It has a lot of revision to go, and I would love input from all of you.

No Sidewalks

I live in a town with no sidewalks,
And my bones have grown there as the trees.
There is a road that wobbles and winds
And stretches into infinite distance.
My feet have never found its end.

I walk on the road where broken
Asphalt meets weed; I can see
Mountain to mountain to mountain
To sky. A cradle of dirt and rock
Open up to bright swaggering blue.

I stop on the road to let a
Gurgling stream greet my thoughts. I lay
to look out of the mouth of the cradle.
On the horizon, cows and grass give
Way to pavement and glass.

The sky strains too heavy
With smearing, fading smog.
It rolls closer to my road
Every year. Closer
to my road, and my Feet.

Smog, sidewalks, and lifeless steel.

The Things That Beckon...

It is incredible to me how clearly and with much resolve this bowl of jelly bellies pierced the minds of the gnomes in my stomach that control what I crave. When I sat down at this computer 10 minutes ago, the bowl was half full, and contained many vibrant colors and mind boggling flavors. With my will power sitting in a crumpled deflated heap on my lap, I now officially declare that the popcorn ones are the best flavor. The worst part of this story....(beside the fact that there was only ONE popcorn jelly bean) is the fact that.....this bowl of many flavors was not mine...it belongs to my dear sweet room mate, so, in remorse I write this letter.

Dear dear sweet room mate,
I am sorry I ate your jelly beans.
They were so yummy and delicious.
Except for the coffee and black licorice flavors. Yuck.
I hope you will forgive me,
and keepy stocking up on Jelly Bellies
Sincerely,
Me

Individuality

I don't know how many of you know that I have a little side hobby (it's really not even something I do often enough to call a hobby....) of writing poetry. Here's a little taste for ya :) Enjoy.

Individuality

One chip in the bag
made me throw up
my whole meal. My
fingers were caked
with the residue of it's companions,
proving I'd partaken
many. But that one,
that last one, got me
good. It must have been
angry. Maybe I'd eaten
the chip that had been it's
neighbor slice in the
potato. Maybe they were
friends, or, perhaps, all
small pieces of the same.
I'm not sure how a
sliced potato works itself
out. Is it still one potato?
Maybe it's become many individuals.
I don't know, but that one piece
of potato caught itself on
the walls of my throat
and stayed, and clung,
and stayed, until I brought
It's self...or it's friends..
back up to greet it.
Except, the burger and
veggies came up too. They
might still count as separate.
Or do they now count as
one acidy sloppy whole?