The Roads I’ve Traveled III (Home)
By Andrew R. Duckworth The minds around the fieldAre inflated, not with knowledgeBut with dastardly ego, the sortThat stays quiet until you’reOut of the room. Driving hereFeels the same as it always did-Numb, nothing out of the ordinary.On some roads, you can sleepAnd still end up where you need.Out the window is flat land,And little…
The Roads I’ve Traveled II (From Fiumicino to Roma)
By Andrew R. Duckworth I was told the highways are fast.The taxi driver hasn’t spoken-No matter, I would understandOnly a few words. Most I wouldn’t.I may not hear the man at allAs my ears are still cloggedFrom a nine hour flight.At 18, I’m interested in fast carsAnd fancy suits, not so muchThe fascinating landscape around.Someday,…
The Roads I’ve Traveled I (In the Valley)
By Andrew R. Duckworth The highway is quiet at daybreak,A few semis between AlbuquerqueAnd Santa Fe with the tires andEngines echoing in the valley,Mountains on every horizon.The orange glow reveals a shadowOn the wire fence posts- a largeBird lurking about as we fly by.It’s the only ominous sign.Valleys are described as beautifulAnd treacherous and I…
Dwelling
By Andrew R. Duckworth In the list of things to think,I think of the half empty glassThat seems the state of my soulAs I only ever ponder over the endOf all things that is coming soon.I can feel it in the air,Weights like anchorsFixing things in place,Stationing for purposesAs we still attempt to determineThe purposes-blinded…
The Cheetah
By Andrew R. Duckworth Many don’t realize,But the cheetah has neverAttacked a person in the wild,Which is more than humanityCan say for itself.
Mountain Speak
By Andrew R. Duckworth The mountains speakIn a way the beach never can-Whispers and wisdomAcross frozen time,Calling heroesTo adventure.
Significance
By Andrew R. Duckworth There’s significanceIn the turkey dressing,In the sausage and pepper dish,In the fried catfish-Significance not bornOf yearly tradition,But born of memory-Born of remembrance.They don’t lack flavor,But the flavor means nothingWithout the name that built them,Without the man that craved them,His favorites at the table-Our favorites now in his absence.
The Anthill and the Magnifying Glass
If you could meet a historical figure, who would it be and why? By Andrew R. Duckworth If I could bring him backI would meet with Thomas PayneWho saw the seeds of tyrannyAnd sought to smash themUnder his foot,Knowing the weightOf a soldier’s bootWhen a king who satOn an overseas throneDelighted in the soundOf marching…
No More New
By Andrew R. Duckworth I remember the feelingOf new experiences,Like entering a coffee shopFor the very first time,The smell of it wavingIn front of my face-Coffee, fresh pastries.Or the smell of stale tobaccoFrom a cigar lounge,Dim-lit and aged,Majestic wood paneling,Antique lamps on each table,Dark leather sofas,Old humidors.Or the first airport visit,The smell of coffee and…
No, I Don’t
Do you trust your instincts? By Andrew R. Duckworth Left on my own,I am the hall floodedWith shouting aimlessness-Banter at best,A joke playedOn my soulAs my fractured naturePulls in every directionBut the one way gold-paved road.Yet, I am not alone,The still small voiceOf Truth guiding me awayFrom dead-end streetsIf only I listen.
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Poetry and Essays of Andrew Ryan Duckworth 