On The Road

a poem dedicated to Jack Kerouac

Stuck in park is the motion of the comfort zone

When a man refuses to read the news

In three inch headlines

Written on his circumstances.

Sooner or later the craving comes.

Packing up your memories

And loading up your own ride

Gets you one step closer

Once you decide to take the wheel

And put yourself in drive.

Riding with strangers and carnival caravans

Make for entertaining companions

On a journey to nowhere special

Especially when you wake up alone.

The greasy spoons and apply pie

May fill the belly for a good time

Until the wait staff and the whore

Comes to collect for the quickie.

It's best to carry homemade sandwiches

Then bellyache over wasted time.

Listening to the radio is landscape for the soul

When your toes tap to Credence Clearwater Revival

And your windswept hair declares freely

“I'm no fortunate son.”

Your own hands imitate your heart's desires.

A man can only do what he has in front of him.

The rear view mirror and the horizon

Bear eerie resemblance when your eyes

Stretch out to make sense of past or future

And accepts either way is beyond control.

The driver's seat is all about going forward not straight

You'll find curves are all too numerous

Nobody makes headway without trouble

Even the experts will tell you

New wheels get worn out sometime.

We all outgrow the cradle sooner or later

And find that pure water always remains in motion

The essence of purity is the ability to change

You can stay on the porch and fade

Or write your destiny anew on the road.

Copyright © 2015 Charles Edward York

No part of this poem may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way or form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise without the written permission of the author.*