Notes, while driving with Miles
(random riffs recorded on the road)
Rain falls, steady, and I say so what.
Wipers try in vain to keep the beat,
but this combo is too tight.
The bass just layin’ it down,
horn and sax sparring.
There’s a fog rolling through the hills,
tellin’ the rain
hold the ice, this is just too cool.
Bare branches, with pines the only green
in a landscape of white on brown.
Wait!
A lone birch like a ghost that knows,
as blue as this feels,
there will be no blue sky.
And that so what refrain slips in
and out.
Narrow roads now,
winding through wet grass
lined with granite and marble.
A memorial among memorials,
some barely legible.
Everything here is blue,
except the pines, white now with big, heavy flakes.
Country roads skirt the mountains,
snow now a powder, hanging in the air like a fog.
Roads slicker than the music.
Hands tense on the wheel.
Piano eases through me,
slowly levels out, bringing me back to the lake,
out there somewhere, blue asleep within the white.
rivrvlogr 
I can feel the tension building and easing. (K)
LikeLiked by 1 person
And it did!
Thank you, Kerfe.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is a very splendid poem, Ken.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Robbie.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Slick roads, intriguing views, and engaging lyrics … Miles nudging you on … another pleasurable post!
These poems are a great alternate view for what’s outside my windows (house or car). Thanks for sharing winter’s scenery so beautifully.
LikeLike
Thank you. 🙂
LikeLike
As for winter’s beautiful scenery, I’m currently sitting on I-70 at Terre Haute at dusk, 100 yards past the first city exit, with snow falling and half an inch around the cars. It’s been 40 minutes so far, so I might spend the night in my car.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re in the groove, Ken. Keep ’em coming!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person