Poem: Running Away From Home

At twenty thousand we break into a sunshine
that doesn’t brighten the darkness inside
to watch the earth’s face recede
and to feel gravity’s pull subside.

Through troposphere, and stratosphere,
into a white hot stone cold silence,
a pointillist diorama splashing fire
and flaring pin-wheeling brilliance.

So stoically, we witnessed our world
a product of brain and brawn
able to make real this marvellous machine
but pollute and poison and flout the law,

as earth gradually fades to a weary camo--
where to go? where to go?

By Bob T.

JBNA: AAA Active Transportation

Winter is Coming

Winter is Coming