Travel, Like a Stream that Runs Parallel


The days linger on,

like a rain that hangs

over the island’s

timeless embrace.

Streams trace the streets,

chase debris out to sea.

Perceive the occasional

floating flower petal,

fleeing like an insignificant detail,

a star amongst the gnarled traffic

of tree limbs and vine,

it becomes more profound in its travel.

Lapsing into symbolism

that will unravel

the mystery of unconscious scenes

just below the surface,

subterranean streams running parallel

to the lingering routines.

Suddenly the universe

and its lightning-infused

electricity of happenstance

conjures a crystallized moment,

a recognition of perfection,

 an art without the need of further correction,

a stage we can gracefully leave

what we preconceive

behind the mask of striving.

Reviving the beat, we dance in unison.

Poised for the next change in rhythm,

content to let the world of thought

fall away into its own revision.

Above the abyss of the audience,

we’re positioned on the cusp of decision.

Do we walk the fine line

or give in to expectation?


Asking not for support but momentum,

I come to this crossroads limping.

Trusting I’ll find my feet again,

a retreat into dreams again,

 a long and winding highway

that untangles the reeds

of someone’s needs,

enclosed in glittering ports,

those soft resorts

that line the shore

of your creative wasteland.

Now that it is light it is time to leave.

The colored roofs, the twisted routes.

There’s another bus to catch,

another town

of multi-colored pastels to undress.

On some ancient Calle

framed by cacti,

a whole stretch of valley lays before me.

You can hear the distant horns

in courtyards, mariachi.

Do not disturb the stray

asleep in the doorway.

Leaning against a wall,

I pull a brim hat over my eyes.

No need to disguise

how good it feels to be alive

under foreign skies again.

To reach for the sun

that blazed through what was barren.

To feel the rain

 that glazed a green hue to the hilltops

that fill you with the desire

to play chase with the clouds

above the chapels,

stepping from one to the next,

until finally you become a tiny speck

on the horizon.




7 thoughts on “Travel, Like a Stream that Runs Parallel

  1. “an art without the need of further correction.”.. i think about that too. do you correct your gut feelings {spontaneity ]. or is it ok not to be afraid to make a change after time when you see it doesn’t always work.

    • domtakis says:

      Some say first thought is best thought. I’m not sure if that is always the case but some things should absolutely be left alone. I go back and forth on this but tend to see things as in progress rather than finished most of the time.

  2. uncle pete says:

    Dom, Your poems always make me think and notice the world in a different way. Thanks for seeing the insignificant flower pedal for us non poets

    • domtakis says:

      My Pleasure Pete, thanks for taking the time! I’m sure you are noticing those “insignificant details” as well, we just forget about them unless one of our dreams is particularly vivid.

  3. cindy knoke says:

    Perfectly lovely!

  4. nicktakis2012 says:

    Good poem,. Dom…. our/your love ,desire of travel, new experiences.. thinking about what came before… puts you in another realm… its time travel in another land… love it. thanks

    Date: Mon, 1 Jul 2013 07:58:25 +0000 To:

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