This is a poem of male roads. It starts with an ordinary road made up of daily traffic plus the occasional traveler impulsively joining the regulars. Unlike them he cannot calculate whether or not it is worth such risk. The seasoned traveler can always turn around, go back home, and salvage a part of the day. But this impulsive one is lost between the too familiar house he has abandoned, and a goal he cannot name or envision. In the end, he will need to see his journey as a success. All around him the regulars are smiling, counting their profits, congratulating each other, laying plans and new schemes. Only the occasional traveler, this man bereft of companionship, is alone. His mind’s a round-about, with no exits, only entrances, At day’s end, no woman sweetens his life.
I was born in the Twin Cities and lived my whole life here. As I look back on the many opportunities I had to live elsewhere I must conclude this is where I am rooted, near the Mississippi River, in a landscape of four seasons with many trees and parks and lakes. These are the natural things I treasure. Poetry, both reading and writing, and classical music are my two passions. Over the years most of my friends have moved to warmer climates. so in old age I find myself to be something of a loner. But I have a talent for solitude, and my extended family is very close. It's very important to me to read poems of other poets at a site like highonpoems. Through my comments I want to help their creativity and nudge them forward as poets. This is at least as important as having people read my poems and give me feedback. Language was given to human beings so they could make creative use of it; it must be respected and never used for debased or evil purposes. It is a sacred trust. Everywhere I witness language misused in advertising, politics, entertainment, daily usage, etc. It is my goal to create beautiful language in my poems so that people can appreciate the wonder of it. This is definitely a personal view; I am not here to impose my views on others, but to learn from their creativity how to increase mine. This is a two way exchange, and in the process of sharing poems we have a wonderful foundation for friendships.
We have erred from the path. We have succumbed to the illusions of our foolish desires. We have extended our hand to brush against her beauty, even if for a moment. We have broken our vow. For this we have