Discussion:
Signposts on the Outskirts / Will Dockery
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Will Dockery
2016-11-14 20:03:36 UTC
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Signposts on the Outskirts
Down the road we are moving
and the darkness is like a solid block.
The silence around me is being shattered
by the roar of my engine's knock.
And nobody around me seems
to have the strength to talk.
The other two seem to have nodded off
from the backseat I hear someone cough
I light your smoke and watch it spark
And these signposts on the outskirts
flash by in strobes in the dark.
In the middle of this circle
the words twisted in a ball of yellow.
Like a layer over that there's you
talking softly, kind of mellow.
The others don't know what you mean
they think you've become like a machine.
They think that your life is too clean
for them to speak to.
I'm wondering if their numbers are that few
those metallic children of the dawn
who chase in and out after you.
Peer pressure for a race down a dead-end
into the faded jaws of youth.
I'm wondering through your soft words
you would reveal
what these signposts on the outskirts
are trying to conceal?
True, I stumbled and fell
I lost my way the other night.
I always felt even a choice for folly
that it was my right.
but when I did, if I messed up your flight
I hope you know that I'm sorry.
If what you said to me was for real
then why do you still refuse to feel?
Why are you still making me kneel
like a dog on the floor?
I'm trying to find the power
to open up your locked door.
Your words splatter like blotches of rain
jumbled concepts like leaves that jam a drain
take another dose it will free up your brain
but if you don't mind I'll side-step the pain
if all you can see are flames.
Not much else that I can say
as I watch you in the moonlight, your sway
just beyond those signposts on the outskirts
as I'm begging you to stay.
They think you act so odd
that you must be motorized.
You seem to look on that
with some surprise.
Worthless meanings, evening, and the skies
are flaming with stars.
If you can believe
what we've both seen here
our thoughts are together it seems clear
nobody else even wants to get near
we're on the edge, just a bit too far.
We converse as we ride
backbeat percussion
from the engine of the car.
Light prickles through enlightening stars
the white picket fences in the dark
passing the frosted fields from afar.
And on those signposts on the outskirts
your secret is revealed.
-Will Dockery / May 26 1976
Splendid.
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Hello Jerry, if you are still here, thanks again.
Will Dockery
2016-11-30 23:32:23 UTC
Permalink
Raw Message
Signposts on the Outskirts
Down the road we are moving
and the darkness is like a solid block.
The silence around me is being shattered
by the roar of my engine's knock.
And nobody around me seems
to have the strength to talk.
The other two seem to have nodded off
from the backseat I hear someone cough
I light your smoke and watch it spark
And these signposts on the outskirts
flash by in strobes in the dark.
In the middle of this circle
the words twisted in a ball of yellow.
Like a layer over that there's you
talking softly, kind of mellow.
The others don't know what you mean
they think you've become like a machine.
They think that your life is too clean
for them to speak to.
I'm wondering if their numbers are that few
those metallic children of the dawn
who chase in and out after you.
Peer pressure for a race down a dead-end
into the faded jaws of youth.
I'm wondering through your soft words
you would reveal
what these signposts on the outskirts
are trying to conceal?
True, I stumbled and fell
I lost my way the other night.
I always felt even a choice for folly
that it was my right.
but when I did, if I messed up your flight
I hope you know that I'm sorry.
If what you said to me was for real
then why do you still refuse to feel?
Why are you still making me kneel
like a dog on the floor?
I'm trying to find the power
to open up your locked door.
Your words splatter like blotches of rain
jumbled concepts like leaves that jam a drain
take another dose it will free up your brain
but if you don't mind I'll side-step the pain
if all you can see are flames.
Not much else that I can say
as I watch you in the moonlight, your sway
just beyond those signposts on the outskirts
as I'm begging you to stay.
They think you act so odd
that you must be motorized.
You seem to look on that
with some surprise.
Worthless meanings, evening, and the skies
are flaming with stars.
If you can believe
what we've both seen here
our thoughts are together it seems clear
nobody else even wants to get near
we're on the edge, just a bit too far.
We converse as we ride
backbeat percussion
from the engine of the car.
Light prickles through enlightening stars
the white picket fences in the dark
passing the frosted fields from afar.
And on those signposts on the outskirts
your secret is revealed.
-Will Dockery / May 26 1976
Enjoyed once again, Will...although I might be wrong as usual, it seems a
poetic story about an attempt at love not quite connecting...all towns, for
me, have the outskirts...though the name is the town is the same, there is a
line where inhabitants live differently, whether money or lack
of...rough/fancy...those two can never meet completely, though both wish it
could be.

The engine knock, Will, works just fine with the rain...a nice back beat to
the story.

...your story brought the south up north..:-)

J

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Again, your readings and interpretations are much appreciated, Jim.
Will Dockery
2016-12-01 09:38:36 UTC
Permalink
Raw Message
Signposts on the Outskirts
Down the road we are moving
and the darkness is like a solid block.
The silence around me is being shattered
by the roar of my engine's knock.
And nobody around me seems
to have the strength to talk.
The other two seem to have nodded off
from the backseat I hear someone cough
I light your smoke and watch it spark
And these signposts on the outskirts
flash by in strobes in the dark.
In the middle of this circle
the words twisted in a ball of yellow.
Like a layer over that there's you
talking softly, kind of mellow.
The others don't know what you mean
they think you've become like a machine.
They think that your life is too clean
for them to speak to.
I'm wondering if their numbers are that few
those metallic children of the dawn
who chase in and out after you.
Peer pressure for a race down a dead-end
into the faded jaws of youth.
I'm wondering through your soft words
you would reveal
what these signposts on the outskirts
are trying to conceal?
True, I stumbled and fell
I lost my way the other night.
I always felt even a choice for folly
that it was my right.
but when I did, if I messed up your flight
I hope you know that I'm sorry.
If what you said to me was for real
then why do you still refuse to feel?
Why are you still making me kneel
like a dog on the floor?
I'm trying to find the power
to open up your locked door.
Your words splatter like blotches of rain
jumbled concepts like leaves that jam a drain
take another dose it will free up your brain
but if you don't mind I'll side-step the pain
if all you can see are flames.
Not much else that I can say
as I watch you in the moonlight, your sway
just beyond those signposts on the outskirts
as I'm begging you to stay.
They think you act so odd
that you must be motorized.
You seem to look on that
with some surprise.
Worthless meanings, evening, and the skies
are flaming with stars.
If you can believe
what we've both seen here
our thoughts are together it seems clear
nobody else even wants to get near
we're on the edge, just a bit too far.
We converse as we ride
backbeat percussion
from the engine of the car.
Light prickles through enlightening stars
the white picket fences in the dark
passing the frosted fields from afar.
And on those signposts on the outskirts
your secret is revealed.
-Will Dockery / May 26 1976
Nice and old fashioned...

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Thanks for reading, glad you liked, Debra.

:)

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