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Literature Text
Windows rolled down on a crisp autumn morning,
sun hung just high to see miles of country ahead.
Commuting becomes mobile meditation as
the radio blasts all the classic favorites in a row.
Roads never changing, yet overlooked details
are spotted at every mile, emerging forward from
behind the curtain. Flowers blooming like freshly
splattered paint on canvas dripping into the sod below.
Swing sets installed for eager children, chasing
each other to and fro. Mom lounging on the
oak patio, newest mystery novel in hand, taking her to
places never fathomed even in her wildest fantasies.
The stench of a skunk carcass lingering like rotten
clumps of spoilt milk down the garbage disposal.
Ironic it seems that one wouldn’t notice what is
driven past every day. Not until a young
photographer parks on the shoulder of the road,
in awe of the grassy hills and lush trees, snaps
moments often missed on the commute.
sun hung just high to see miles of country ahead.
Commuting becomes mobile meditation as
the radio blasts all the classic favorites in a row.
Roads never changing, yet overlooked details
are spotted at every mile, emerging forward from
behind the curtain. Flowers blooming like freshly
splattered paint on canvas dripping into the sod below.
Swing sets installed for eager children, chasing
each other to and fro. Mom lounging on the
oak patio, newest mystery novel in hand, taking her to
places never fathomed even in her wildest fantasies.
The stench of a skunk carcass lingering like rotten
clumps of spoilt milk down the garbage disposal.
Ironic it seems that one wouldn’t notice what is
driven past every day. Not until a young
photographer parks on the shoulder of the road,
in awe of the grassy hills and lush trees, snaps
moments often missed on the commute.
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This is my third poem for my final portfolio in my Poetry Workshop class. This was written from the prompt of writing a "Praise Poem" about something that isn't often praised/seems like it shouldn't be praised. Of course, being a commuter who actually enjoys their commute, it became the subject for my praise poem.
Thiis is another one of my poems that I feel sort of "meh" about. I enjoy it for what it is, yet I feel that I could have shoved more imagery into the poem. It was already pushing to go over a page though, so I didn't want to add too much. This is a poem that I could pack all sorts of my tales from the commute into, but I kind of like it as is. Who knows?
Personally my favorite part is the "Flowers blooming like freshly splattered paint on canvas dripping into the sod below," line. I love it, there's so much going on in just that line. Honestly I could create an entire imagery poem with just this line.
"Praise the Commute" written by Charlotte Carmel
Thiis is another one of my poems that I feel sort of "meh" about. I enjoy it for what it is, yet I feel that I could have shoved more imagery into the poem. It was already pushing to go over a page though, so I didn't want to add too much. This is a poem that I could pack all sorts of my tales from the commute into, but I kind of like it as is. Who knows?
Personally my favorite part is the "Flowers blooming like freshly splattered paint on canvas dripping into the sod below," line. I love it, there's so much going on in just that line. Honestly I could create an entire imagery poem with just this line.
"Praise the Commute" written by Charlotte Carmel
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