Tag Archives: Traffic

Evening Meditation

As the light fades to yellow

And to bright orangey-red

I summon my thoughts

About life to my head.

As red turns to green

Like autumn reversed

I think of life’s moments,

The best and the worst.

As green turns to amber

The cycle repeats

And I cherish life’s beauty,

The adventures and treats.

Then the light’s green again

And in my pensive mood

I ask “what’s with the honking

“And why are drivers so rude?”

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Impression: Los Angeles

I stood out here once before

Seeking what could not be found

Head to toe in the neon cloak of midnight

Listening for the absence of a sound.

I saw humans crawl past empty sidewalks

Burning gas and paying fares

On the way to work that will empower them

To buy their surplus worries and cares.

They seek comfort in a glasses, pills, and needles,

Pray for hope through a politician’s lies.

Paychecks promise them the satisfaction

Of being happy in someone else’s eyes.

Red-eye pilots flee this urban heaven

Carrying those with sense enough to flee.

I just read my scripts and idly wonder

What it’s like to see a real tree.

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Thank You! I’ll Be Here All Night

I’ve got another story

That I thought I’d share with you

And unlike most of my others

This one is completely true.

I’m stuck in traffic, driving

Down through Portland, OR.

At one time people thought “let’s go”

But apparently not anymore.

We’re driving behind a Tesla

With a vanity plate

That reads “UNSTPBL.”

Its driver I do hate.

I know most folks are decent

But my opinion’s going askew

Thanks to Mr. 100K a year

Who has 15 IQ.

I could probably go on longer,

And (we’ll see) perhaps I might.

I’ve got 400 miles ’til I get home

And that’s a lot of night.

I’m glad I don’t live in LA,

New York, or Portland too,

But if you’ve got a book I can sign

Come to I-5 exit 242.

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An Only-Somewhat-Exaggerated Tale Of Today (Dedicated To Seth)

Today I drove a thousand miles

From WA to San Jose,

With a bunch of flaming morons

Tailgating me the whole way,

Weaving through the traffic

Like quilters yearning for death

All behind a mini cooper

Going 20 (License Plate: IMSETH).

As I recline, safe somehow,

On my Californian bed

A realization formed inside

My woeful weary head.

I-5 South, the freeway

A thousand miles through crazyville

Should better be renamed

The route of all evil.

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Nice Weather For Post-Commute Shenanigans 

The air was warm and friendly,

The sun a gentle golden light,

And the dirt was easily shoveled

Upon the corpse of the guy who passed me on the right.

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Dear Fellow Drivers, Stanzas 1-3 of 666

I love you

Like I love early mornings,

Like the smell of microwaveable cuisine,

Like a secondhand q-tip,

Like stainable steel,

Like the dry-mouth aftertaste of human spleen.

I love you

Like Jew’s love the early 40’s,

Like nudists love Alaskan Winter nights.

I love you like a river

Loves the absence of nearby bathrooms,

Like Congress loves supporting individual rights.

I love you

Like Chris Brown loves Rihanna,

Like hot girls like short, polite, low-income men.

I love you

Like babies like international flights,

Like when your cellmate winks and  says “hey babe, I’m Ben.” 

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Is My Exasperation Towards Gradual Movement An Indicator Of Privilege? 

I gaze in awe at the millions

Who march to show their views.

I am there in person,

Not merely watching the news.

The signs are wise and witty

And camaraderie is merry

But I’m getting sick of idling

As I drive to the library… 

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Twelve Unborn Chickens Died To Bring You This Poem

When I throw eggs out the window

While on the motorway

Some jerks honk and curse at me.

That’s what I learned today.

Now if I hit you with an egg

You can honk if you want to

But I don’t mind ’cause either way

In the end the yolk’s on you.

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Driving Home

Today I returned home from my vacation in Portland, OR. The following are a few poems I thought of over the six hour drive when I should have been avoiding pedestrians:


Feel free to tailgate my ass,

But the more you press, the less I gas.

The sooner I’m back

In Oregon

The sooner your drivers

I can deplore again.

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Today I returned home from my vacation in Portland, OR. The following are a few poems I thought of over the six hour drive when I should have been avoiding pedestrians:


Feel free to tailgate my ass,

But the more you press, the less I gas.

The sooner I’m back

In Oregon

The sooner your drivers

I can deplore again.

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems