Highway 13 Poem by Almedia Knight-Oliver
Highway 13
Traveling eastward on highway 13, passing
uninhabited-it seems- railroad tracks
and quaint white churches, steeples
humbly making signs of the cross.
Looking down at her black skin wondering,
Why not one white church is followed
by a single colored one…Hmm?
was it god's design or man's...white churches,
colored churches...Hmm?
The poetic architect quickly dismantles such thoughts...
centering her mind on nature's creation:
The brown cones dropping of
trees, needles dropping of pine
brown grass dead asleep
on the ground, as evening
progressed, we pressed on
leaving life in winter-wonderland
Passing by red, green, and white illuminated homes;
luminous reindeers and round-belly Santas,
Seeming to announce a Ho, Ho, Ho, and a Merry Christmas!
Unawakening the sleeping children in the back.
We continued eastward…
Merry Christmas everyone!
December 27,2007
‘…The poetic architect quickly dismantles such thoughts…. behind the green and brown plain, /brown and red leaves dance before/’resting their souls….’ What Poets can do thro’ the great Architect …is poetic mind and imagination …and souls resting phase color play…enjoyed Ma’am… Ms. Nivedita UK PS 10
hi alm wrote this a couple o yrs back but is still fresh and if one would open the window the cool gush would flood the room beautiful write cheers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/24/2026 2:56:17 PM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
Many of the old cathedrals of Europe were built with stone, grey, ashen in colour to remind us - lest we forget - what we really are - dust; ash; not white, not black; mere ash. Well, as you say in this thoughtful, deep write, Almedia, the poetic architect quickly dismissed such thoughts - of white churches followed by black ones. I like the term 'poetic architect', it is filled with life.