Skip to main content

Decisions

 Sharing for The Sunday Muse #165:



it's the bad decision
offer me a ride; let the wheels spin
it's the wrong decision
there's a blacktop where we've been

We've sent the leaves to vortices, up within our spin
Trees still lean above us, tangling shadows in the wind
There's no road that holds us, errant in our tin

it's the bad decision
made with brevity and whim
it's the wrong decision
on the blacktop where we've been

-- Chrissa 

Comments

  1. robkistnerJune 19, 2021 at 1:00 PM

    This reads so well Chrissa — fluid and pedal to the meddle… ;)

    ReplyDelete
  2. Carrie Van HornJune 19, 2021 at 2:00 PM

    Wow I really love this poem Chrissa! A warning, a message, a song, and advice we may not have taken. An amazing response to the image my friend!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. indybevJune 19, 2021 at 2:08 PM

    Bad decisions, wrong decisions, blacktop in the past. Haven't we all? Well penned!

    ReplyDelete
  4. kaykualaJune 19, 2021 at 5:41 PM

    Thoughtful take Chrissa! An impending consequence keeps us smiling at the end. There is a tinge of humour, here!

    Here!

    ReplyDelete
  5. FireblossomJune 19, 2021 at 6:28 PM

    All roads lead to Rome, just some roads may be bumpier than others! ;-)

    ReplyDelete
  6. Sherry Blue SkyJune 19, 2021 at 7:38 PM

    I so love the repeated "on the blacktop where we've been." A very cool poem.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Gillena CoxJune 20, 2021 at 5:58 AM

    A whirligig from start to finish, a high contrast to the image prompt Nice one
    Happy Sunday

    Much💛love

    ReplyDelete
  8. hedgewitchJune 20, 2021 at 7:06 AM

    Very imaginative use of rhyme, nicely paced. I love that last (chorus-like) stanza, and the feel of an inevitability to everything. The middle stanza seems like a lament, as well as a call and response to the first and last. Skillful and evocative writing. It's the bad decisions that we can't leave behind.

    ReplyDelete
  9. HelenJune 20, 2021 at 12:31 PM

    On the road again ... with an edge. Brava, Chrissa.

    ReplyDelete
  10. .June 20, 2021 at 1:36 PM

    Love the imagery. The flow sugggests to me how easy ad decisions are, even when they are wrong. 'There's no road that holds us, errant in our tin'

    ReplyDelete
  11. CadJune 20, 2021 at 2:20 PM

    Tangled shadows in the wind - hmm. No plain sailing in such weather? :-)

    ReplyDelete
  12. ms_liliJune 20, 2021 at 6:03 PM

    Sometimes the bad decisions are the most fun, even if you end up paying, with interest, later. Been down that road a time or two.

    ReplyDelete
  13. JimJune 20, 2021 at 10:00 PM

    Yes, but the paved road is sooo boring.
    Fun read, Chrissa.
    ..

    ReplyDelete
  14. Marion HortonJune 21, 2021 at 2:11 AM

    Oh yes, all those decisions made in haste .... I enjoyed this ride.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Turn Away

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse , for #193. Turn away, like the moon, listening... Listening to the planet that rumbles with a hundred million slaps. All the feet, all the rockets, all the  pistons in the cars on the asphalt over the chasm where the veins run deep, blue in sunlight, black at night. Running over the chasm.  Once or twice they ran to you. Once or twice they ran by. Greetings and salutations. The sky is an entertaining shade of concrete yellow as the rain promised earlier in the week makes good on its arrival. It's a disturbing bright sallow sky, the kind of sky that puts you in mind of old movies and degraded film stock and the pops and crackles incidental to the main story.  Several years ago I made a resolution to journal more and last year I came across a video that suggested I actually re-read those journals, at least those of the previous year, at the beginning of each new year. Technically, I have kept the journal resolution, making daily notes in...
15 comments
Read more

The Soul and The Spine

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #195 . Come and share! When it blew out the candle, It began to speak, voice low,  eyes dimmer than flame. Jenn believed, once upon a childhood (she's still there... but it's waning), it inhaled fire. Spines, tonight. Gears ladder bones and metal and plastic, all that lived, rungs to heaven. Heaven is a level of space where you can't breathe  so they used to send the dead. When the flame goes, it takes our memories with it. But not bot files. Maybe it believes  she'll sleep easier if bots go breathless, too. It continues murmuring and she pretends she's hearing a confession in a box Like the song her mother plays when the dark stretches  between signals We can handle shocks. She can handle the dark, the small  not-flame of its eyes. It's finally winter!! Which means bitmapped frost on the roofs, cold mornings, and a table full of succulents that are pretty much glaring at me because the kitchen window isn't the same as full su...
14 comments
Read more

A Single (Terrible) Poem

 I did not buy the poetry book whose sample Was page after page of essay and praise. I'm not following the trumpets. Today I follow the ringers-- Huzzah and call out the streets! Lift your arm, swing the bell; Call out the quiet, call out the neat Call out the loud, call out the bold Call out the wrong, call out the wise We remember the bells We shiver the skies.    This isn't about...anything. It's not about nothing. It should go without saying that a poem shouldn't need an essay or a textbook to be what it is. And I'm not sure why, with a stack of poetry at hand to be read, one silly Kindle sample (and writer's block and anxiety and...) would push my buttons so badly. But seriously. Where is my parody book full of fake blurbs that runs for 50 pages and ends with a single (terrible) poem?  -- Chrissa
11 comments
Read more