Free form poetry.

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It hangs there, the knot fashioned neatly, calling me

like my mother did when I was out past sunset

running with the fellas…even a few girls.

We played in the street, living free then. But those days are gone.


Each shift, negative contact, complaint, or

snide comment from those I serve

draws each loop tighter, choking away what little air that remains.

I cannot be sure anyone would bother to cut me down.

A lone truth that stings.

What is it that brings me back each day?

Much to live for, sure, but for the others, not me.

Is that really true?

Blasts from my past, from lives I watched expire,

swing the rope back and forth, gently at first.

An evil grin

on my weathered face

grows impatient…

hoping the wooden beam

the rope is affixed to

cannot support my weight.

–C.L.Swinney (c) 2017

Daily Rant #7

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Been awhile, but this is a doozy.


If you’re driving along the freeway at 55 mph in the fast lane, and the speed limit is 65 mph, don’t take it personal that I am passing you. YOU SHOULD NOT speed up and make it impossible for me to merge over while you’re texting, talking, putting on makeup, singing, eating, spacing out, or whatever it was you were doing while I attempted to pass you to keep the flow of traffic safe. I don’t know you! Me passing you has nothing to do with you. I’m sure you’re a great and wonderful person who just got preoccupied. Please, for a more pleasurable experience, allow me to pass or move over to allow traffic to proceed. That is all.