Poetry by Patrick JenningsJul 13, 201611:25 am

Stagecoach Motel

As night drops down
Headlights on the road
Looking for a bed
A shower

Stale cigarettes
And mildew
Saggy mattress
Flickering lights

Poetry by Patrick JenningsJul 12, 20168:24 pm

Main Street, Route 66, Galena, Kansas, United States of America

Time does not forget

This is not a place
That time passed by
Or has forgotten

Time is always active
Always present
Always changing

Only consciousness
Forgets
Or represses

Time is always moving
Cultures move on
People move on

Poetry by Patrick JenningsJul 12, 20167:00 am

Derelict Neon, Route 66, In or around Lebanon, Missouri, United States of America

Home Made Pie

A derelict sign
On this derelict highway
No more home made pie

Landscape by Patrick JenningsJul 11, 20169:55 pm

Dustbowl Jalopy, Between Adrian and Vega, Texas, United States of America

The Mother Road

01:39 Windmill RV Park; McLean, Texas :: 17 SEP 97

John Steinbeck devoted a full chapter of his epic roadtrip, The Grapes of Wrath, to Route 66. Five words of that chapter — three words, really — captured everyone’s imagination. Three words.

The Mother Road

“66 is the mother road,” wrote Steinbeck. Poetry. Evocation.

Poetry by Patrick JenningsJul 10, 20167:20 pm

Cafe Sign, Mid-point Route 66, Adrian, Texas, United States of America

Markers

Markers
One erected
One abandoned

I leave a trail
I follow one

I leave a mark
I seek one

I know my place
Where I am
Where I’ve been
Where I’m going
By the markers

Poetry by Patrick JenningsJul 10, 20167:15 am

Outer Wall, Wat Pho, Grand Palace, Bangkok, Thailand

Walls ~ Pic and a Word Challenge #45

Sometimes
I sense a world
Beyond a wall
I cannot see
Cannot breach

Something
Tantalizingly near
Excruciatingly remote
Intangibly real
Exquisitely beautiful

A mote
In the corner of one eye
Visible only
In the periphery
Invisible looking straight on

Landscape by Patrick JenningsJul 9, 20165:46 pm

Coloured Sand, Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming, United States of America

Finger Painting

The canyon walls were a run of colours, as if, in a fit of whimsy, Mother Nature had just kept going with the finger paint, like the kindergarten child whose teacher didn’t know when to take the paper away.

Poetry by Patrick JenningsJul 9, 20162:55 pm