Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.
Oct 17, 2009
⭐ View statistics (Premium feature)
Beware the Lady
Beware the lady driving the big truck
who rolls her rig onto the great artist’s
canvas, painted at sunset in red orange,
bruised by dusk into purple and black-blue.
Edges of field and road meld to gray pools
while day’s end stalks last remnants of color,
forcing orbs to bend like eyes of a cat,
night now visible for all God’s creatures.
Watch out for the lady over the road
who drives deep into those cavernous hours,
lost in the stars, content in her own thoughts,
talking pure trash to the man in the moon.
Warning lights flashing: construction ahead—
slow to forty five, thirty five, merge now.
Godspeed she wishes to angels on high,
perched on the edges of silver-lined clouds.
Think twice about the lady truck driver,
la femme caught up in the rhythm of jazz,
drunk on the sad sounds of sweet clarinet,
pan flute’s sigh, loving the piano man.
Into a night mist the cello’s voice fades.
Water splashes large onto the window;
ice chunks fall out of a lightning bright sky,
rain blowing wild, sideways, big truck slowing.
Think again about that lady driving,
easy, when the road keeps on going straight;
but for hills and curves, ice and snow and wind,
still, there is time for dancing with the stars.
Curve left, curve right, shift down, and down again—
brakes, nice and easy, shift up, let ‘er ride.
who rolls her rig onto the great artist’s
canvas, painted at sunset in red orange,
bruised by dusk into purple and black-blue.
Edges of field and road meld to gray pools
while day’s end stalks last remnants of color,
forcing orbs to bend like eyes of a cat,
night now visible for all God’s creatures.
Watch out for the lady over the road
who drives deep into those cavernous hours,
lost in the stars, content in her own thoughts,
talking pure trash to the man in the moon.
Warning lights flashing: construction ahead—
slow to forty five, thirty five, merge now.
Godspeed she wishes to angels on high,
perched on the edges of silver-lined clouds.
Think twice about the lady truck driver,
la femme caught up in the rhythm of jazz,
drunk on the sad sounds of sweet clarinet,
pan flute’s sigh, loving the piano man.
Into a night mist the cello’s voice fades.
Water splashes large onto the window;
ice chunks fall out of a lightning bright sky,
rain blowing wild, sideways, big truck slowing.
Think again about that lady driving,
easy, when the road keeps on going straight;
but for hills and curves, ice and snow and wind,
still, there is time for dancing with the stars.
Curve left, curve right, shift down, and down again—
brakes, nice and easy, shift up, let ‘er ride.
— deelilah, Oct 17, 2009
Share this poem
Critiques
Seren
16 years 7 months ago
Dear Deelilah
deelilah
16 years 7 months ago
So good to hear from you
Ink Dragon
16 years 7 months ago
Yay, Dee!
deelilah
16 years 7 months ago
Nina
lyz
16 years 7 months ago
Great One
deelilah
16 years 7 months ago
Hi Lyz
Candlewitch
16 years 7 months ago
Dear Deelilah
deelilah
16 years 7 months ago
Hi Cat
orgami
16 years 7 months ago
Woman in motion
deelilah
16 years 7 months ago
Orgami, my friend
Seren
16 years 7 months ago
Dearest Deelilah
deelilah
16 years 7 months ago
Jayne
Rett
16 years 7 months ago
YAY Deelilah
deelilah
16 years 7 months ago
Rett
Ailill
16 years 7 months ago
Good imagery and good use of
deelilah
16 years 7 months ago
Dear Ailill
seabhac
16 years 7 months ago
Brought a great big smile
deelilah
16 years 7 months ago
Dear Seabhac
Janice Pearce
16 years 7 months ago
Beware the Lady
deelilah
16 years 7 months ago
Hi Janice,