An Uncomplicated Road
If all roads lead to Rome then how do bus
drivers ever get to other places?
Roads are tangled like discarded laces
and we choose the one that’s right for us.
You might think that if you believed the fuss
that’s made to save the thousand faces
and the thousand people of the thousand races,
all on the same dark road as Orpheus,
whence Eurydice could not bring him home.
There’s but one road, one way and no return,
however free we fancy that we roam.
However daft and fancy free we yearn
to turn time back to where it had come from,
it just goes on, and back it will not turn.
Missing in Action, Presumed Well
These roads we travel have all been laid down
by habits of our forebears, or chalked up
in planners’ workshops. Old ways went round
the rocks and trees and rivers that obstruct
the straighter line, but now these paved and steeled
ways erase the landscape. If desire
is A to B then short is good, but will
we not do well to stray a little while?
The tao paths and desire paths toe the line.
Paths make their walkers and boards their chalkers.
We walk in sun but we can’t make it shine.
We live in language; we’re incessant talkers.
Hey ho, hey ho, for all there’s work to do,
I’ll walk on up the hill and see the view.
Copyright © Peter Richards 2014