How a Long Drive Can Clear the Mind—Free Verse

Driver reached driver

Traveling the highways of a grass fire

His mind holdout in the car

Grabbed hard of draining away

And reached into the shocking cold

Of the swift small stream

For the silvery fish

Grabbed a handful of pebbles

While the fish darted away

To hide in the hollow shade

Under a large tree root.


A free verse poem has no set pattern for line or stanza length. Rhyme is not used, or it is used sparingly. The line length and the rhythm or the lines are dictated by the natural rhythm of speech or other concerns such as emphasis on a particular word, image, or idea.

Finding Jesus—Choka

Slow Sunday driving

And the swelling smell of grass.

The woosh of the car

Down the old country backroad.

Yellow street sign framed

By trees preceding a turn.

Winged insect zipping

At a distance through the field.

Maple seed drifting

So much like a hummingbird

On a swirl of air

Riding through opened window

With the faint ring of windchimes

From one of the distant homes.


Choka is a long Japanese poem that alternates lines of 5 and 7 syllables. The poem must end with at least two 7 syllable lines in a row. If you want to learn more about choka or other syllabic poetry forms, you can visit Word Craft Poetry #TankaTuesday at:

Rules for Thee and not for Me

The cup of coffee when you are running late, and it tastes like dish soap.

And you can’t enjoy it, you throw it in the drive, and cuss your way to work.

Cussing in public loud as you can is normal in the car, you think.

So is picking your nose, farting out loud and singing along with music.

That is any singing of any music regardless of the content.

Singing is always wrong. That is why it is done in the bar at night.

Karaoke should be an arrestable offence when you do it.

And red-light lipstick application. You honk at the car in front of you.

She flips you off and speeds away, and you look for a decent gas station.

You think you will be late for work, but you need that cup of coffee.

August Poem 2: Crumbling Brackets of Black

Looking strange, he legged to the bathroom stall. caters to his mind.

Characters’ minds: Crumbling brackets of black.

Lost. Your other last time. The sense of smell.

The sewer rooms cannot exist. You were,

Vestiges on the gold age of highway

The life of watered ice and liquored drink.

Walked stiff from the balcony. All corners

To try the manuscript book. The mounting.

The driver drives the registers and lives.

The glover gives the register of loves

Ambiguity lay. The transfer of

Industries. Of the poem. Of my old balls.

Out of the one side and out the other.