Long poem by
The Seeker | Details |
The day finally arrived, the day all new parents eagerly anticipate! The contractions were ten minutes apart. We climbed into our 1999 Subaru and headed for the hospital, her belly sticking out a mile, the look on her face a mixture of pain and excitement. Last month we celebrated our tenth anniversary. It seemed as though she would never conceive, we'd almost given up. I'll never forget the day she told me. I'd had an especially trying day at work and came home tired and grumpy. I spoke harshly to her about something, I don't even remember what it was about now. Something trivial. She took my hand and led me into the bedroom and placed my hand on her stomach. It took me a moment, but I finally got it. She was pregnant! Our new lives were to begin on that day.
Almost there, just a half mile more. Her pangs had increased in severity and I was afraid she was gonna have that baby before we got there. As we approached the intersection at Main and 3rd, the light turned green. What happened next is still a blur, but I remember an impact and a loud crunching noise. The next think I knew I was lying in a hospital bed.
"Mr. Johnson, Mr. Johnson?" someone called.
I woke up to see a tall, imposing figure standing over me. He introduced himself as Dr. Kevin Green.
"Wha, what happened? Where am I?" I asked.
"Mr. Johnson, you were in an accident, but you are going to be fine," said the doctor.
"My wife, the baby, where are they?" I begged, my voice just above a whisper.
What the doctor said next I didn't fully comprehend. I watched his lips move and could hear the sound of his voice, but the words seemed mumbled and weren't registering in my brain. I don't know if the concussion I had suffered was the cause or if my mind was deliberately protecting me from the full impact, but I passed out before he could finish speaking to me.
When I awoke that evening, the words of the doctor began to coalesce, and I realized at that moment that my precious Amy was gone. How was this possible? We were on our way to welcome a new life into the world and now I have to say goodbye? Surely it was all a bad dream. I could hear two of the nurses talking outside my room. I was certain that they were unaware that I could hear them. The one was shaking her head as the other said something about a drunk driver, and how he had walked away from the crash without so much as a scratch! I yelled out at the top of my lungs:
The nurse rushed to my side, but I passed out once again. I would not awaken until morning.
"The baby, what about our baby?" I asked Dr. Green as he made his morning rounds. His voice was soft and kind. This time I understood every word. The infant had been successfully delivered, but was in critical condition. I asked the doctor if I could see the baby. He reluctantly assented.
I remember when my sister had her baby, walking into the pediatric unit was quite an experience. Little wiggling babies crying for their mommies. But as I entered this special unit for struggling infants two things struck me: There was no sound except the sound of medical equipment and the unit had a strange sweet smell to it. I didn't know what to compare it to - citrus? It reminded me a bit of tangerines. I walked over to where the child lay. A little girl. How I hated to see her with tubes attached and monitors everywhere. A tear formed in my eye as I contemplated how and when I would tell this precious little girl that her mommy had died. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks! What if she doesn't make it? I would be alone in the world. Just as I was contemplating these things one of the monitors she was hooked up to began making an awful noise. I was rushed out of the room as a team of nurses and doctors hovered over her.
Six in the morning. I couldn't sleep all night. No one would tell me anything. I wished I was dead. Why couldn't I be the one? Everyone knows that children need their mothers, for crying out loud!
"Mr. Johnson?" the doctor called. "I'm Dr. Kim. I want you to know that your baby girl is going to be okay. It will be a long recovery and it won't be easy, but she's going to make it. I'm so sorry about your wife."
My whole being was flooded with a mixture of emotions - grief, joy, anger, frustration, guilt. I immediately prayed like I had never prayed before in my life, asking God to help me raise this little girl, a little girl who would never get to be held by her mommy. I prayed for wisdom and courage and the strength that would be needed to face what lay ahead.
As I entered the unit where my child was, I smelled that same scent I had noticed the first time I was here. Only this time it was pleasant, relaxing. I walked over to where my baby, our baby, lay. She was sleeping, her chest rising and falling rhythmically with each breath. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was looking at my future. Just then, quite unexpectedly, her eyes opened wide. She looked around with her gorgeous baby blue's and then her eyes caught mine. We locked for what seemed like an eternity and I knew at that very moment what her name was going to be - Tangerine! Tangerine Amy Johnson.
Copyright © The Seeker | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Roy Jerden | Details |
Sipping cherry limeade, driving in the car parade,
we're cruising in the Lone Star state.
Didn't want a bucket seat; the thing it couldn't beat,
was sitting up close to your date.
One hand on the wheel of daddy’s Oldsmobile,
my arm around my brown-eyed girl,
feeling pretty sporty, radio on Top Forty,
I was cooler than the Duke of Earl.
The lady of the cruise had her penny loafer shoes;
her bobby socks were turned down twice.
With a little eyeliner, she couldn't be much finer,
too much and it wouldn't be nice.
There’d be no wild oats under those petticoats;
she’d never go all the way...
just a perfect flip-up 'do and cute look number two
practiced in the mirror all day.
Hear those tires squeal when I make the rubber peel
for the fly-boys waiting on the bus,
to take them to the base where they don't feel out of place,
not cruising like the rest of us.
I was the drag's head honcho as we pulled across the Concho
and we saw the lights along the riverside.
We'd had quite a lark there at Neff's amusement park,
playing Putt-Putt and going on a ride.
The cheerleader squad rode a killer hot rod
with a spinner on every rim,
a perfect tuck and pleat on every single seat,
courtesy of Wanda's Auto Trim.
Candy apple red, it would really knock you dead;
it was a drop-top Pontiac.
One was there to steer and three were in the rear
posing up on the back.
Those football beauty queens in their skin-tight Levi jeans
were followed by their biggest fan.
Checking out those lasses in his Buddy Holly glasses
was the nerdy little Aqua Velva man.
In his stainless steel braces he grinned up at their faces;
they iced him with a haughty air.
He never would forget it; they would later on regret it
when he became a multi-millionaire.
A four girl bevy in a big finned Chevy
were riding west on Sherwood Way,
four guys right behind in a pick-up state of mind,
all ready to make their play.
Thought they were the smartest cruising pick-up artists,
but those gals were pretty astute.
When they stopped and the guys started telling all their lies,
the chicks started putting on the cute.
We turned the car around and headed back downtown,
cruising down the boulevard.
Stay cool daddio, bear right at El Patio,
and take it down Beauregard.
There were lots of pleated skirts and those button-down shirts.
The flattops were everywhere galore.
From a Lincoln Continental, we heard an instrumental,
Mister Acker Bilk's “Stranger on the Shore”.
We slowly pulled through BJ’s, listening to the deejay’s
announcement of the next hit song.
Leaning on their doors with their Brylcreem pompadours,
two hoods were playing Mr. Wrong.
Completing their disguise, they slouched with narrowed eyes
and did their best at looking mean.
With a twist of his pelvis, one was doing Elvis.
The other did a fine James Dean.
Like a sweet potato vine, the bride of Frankenstein
was entwined around the Marlboro man.
With the passion of their make out, they should have gotten takeout
and opted for a bigger floor plan.
With her black beehive hair and his fancy western wear,
they were putting on quite an awesome scene.
I had to give a chuckle at his huge silver buckle,
but those M.L. Leddy boots looked mighty keen.
I pulled the Olds on through, and we bid BJ’s adieu,
and I put us back onto the street.
With those four whitewall tires, we made for McIntire's
to get ourselves a bite to eat.
We stopped for some fuel, over near the school,
in those days they came right out to you.
Best place on Earth, ‘cause with a dollar’s worth,
they’d check your oil and clean your window too.
The drive-in, painted green, was quite the social scene
with people mingling car to car.
Everyone was caring; the drinks were all for sharing,
(especially when in a mason jar).
She ate a big banana split, and then left me for a bit
to comfort an old friend not feeling right.
A moment more to linger with that final steak finger,
then I took her home and called that one a night.
That was many years ago, but some things you don’t outgrow,
and I think back to when I was a teen.
When doors were left unlocked, and children safely flocked,
unchaperoned at night on Halloween.
And sometimes at night, when the stars are big and bright,
and I’m deep in a Texas state of mind,
I think of that lass who was in my high school class,
And I wonder if she thinks of me in kind.
August 10, 2012
Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2012
Long poem by
Andrea Dietrich | Details |
I did not learn to drive until my twenties.
My two poor kids I hauled inside a wagon!
That wagon creaked when filled with groceries!
Fed up, I said, “My kids I won’t be draggin’!”
I got my license at age twenty-four.
We didn’t have much money, and I think
I got a car whose kind is found no more -
a Monza, and it’s shade was rosy pink!
It cost me Fifteen-hundred, and I thought
I’d own it for a while, but here’s the fact:
A lemon was that first car that I’d bought.
We took a family trip; its block was cracked!
It broke down on the freeway. Lucky me!
Not drivable, it was not worth repairing.
I talked my hubbie into something pretty -
another car with me he’d not be sharing.
It was an old white Mustang, not too bad.
But something sure was wrong. It liked to die
at almost each long stop. DANG, I’d been had!
At busy intersections, I’d almost cry!
We tried to fix it, but it never seemed
to stay fixed long, and so I saved my money
to buy the kind of car of which I’d dreamed.
At last I found HER. She was a honey!
The car for me was one I could adore -
a used Camaro - sporty and baby blue.
I can’t recall, but maybe she was 2-door
and she did not break down; that car stayed true!
I drove her out to California when
we moved out there; but one day at the wheel
I got crashed by a crazy trucker. Then
my sweet car was repaired and painted teal!
Gone now was that baby blue I’d flaunted.
Her miles too were getting very high.
We moved back to our old state; I wanted
to trade her in before she chanced to die!
My next used car was nice, but in my eyes
It wasn’t ME; it had no sporty feel.
New Yorker was its name, a compromise
in gray! I searched for one I’d like for real!
And then I saw another “she,” an utter
beauty, a white convertible with black top.
For weeks she sat for sale. Heart a-flutter,
I bought that Mustang, cream of the used crop!
I always bought my cars a wee bit old
to save on cost, and this one had some miles.
I dressed her up; her wheels got trimmed in gold.
When folks yelled out, “Nice car,” I was all smiles!
I loved that Mustang, so I then had made
a license plate called Andie55.
I’d put the top down; in that car I played
with wind that tossed my hair. I felt alive!
At last the time arrived to trade her in.
A hundred thousand miles on cars concerns me.
A beige convertible then made me grin -
A Spyder Eclipse by Mitsubishi.
I got some heads turned driving her but missed
my gold-trimmed Mustang, and my tall spouse Joe
felt cramped when in that car; it made him pissed!
She too got old and then she had to go.
The car I’m driving now is halfway to
the time its warranty’s set to expire.
In five more years I know just what I’ll do
about the time that folks my age retire!
I bought my Kia Forte just to please
my husband, and it’s been an OK car,
but I want something more than driving ease.
A SHE car is a better one by far!!
That license plate made just for me is gone.
Though Kia‘s the first brand new car I‘ve bought,
the kind of car I want to put back on
my ANDIE55 is a car I’ll love a LOT!
for the Women Only (WOULD YOU, COULD YOU) Write About Cars Contest
of PD and Skat
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Evin cruz | Details |
WHEN I GOT STABBED
The blade went through my flesh like a knife through melting butter.
Thoughts ran through my head as I bled out, like no more will I see my mother
Anger and rage streamed through my veins so I didnt feel the pain.
Im on my way to my car and get into the passenger seat.
My girlfriend Sareina runs to the other side, I hear the thud of her feet.
Getting into my car was quite a task, it was lower and
close to the ground.
Time seems to freeze as my are starts to throb and my head
begins to pound.
I hear the car turn over and roars to life, as I sit there and
mine drains out.
As were driving I look around me and see the crimson splatters
I hear my mom on the phone asking my big brother Rikki
whats the matter.
He hears the trembling in her voice and doesnt know what to say .
He said mom Evin got stabbed but dont worry he'll be okay.
Sareina swerves through traffic trying not to crash.
I lift my blood soaked shirt and remove it from the gash,
She sees the slice in my wrist, panice and begins to scream.
At the time it didnt seem real, like a fable or some bad dream.
She pushes the pedal to the floor, the engine gets louder and louder.
Already in motion the car lunges forward releasing all its power,
My fingers go numb and my hand beging to follow.
Sitting there in a pool of blood its getting harder to swallow
we make it to the hospital, skidding in front of the door.
I open my attempt to get out, but almost fall to the floor.
Rikki and Sareina help me as I stumble into the lobby.
My blood soaked cloths send velvet liquid dripping down my body.
As I stand there among the rukus and comotion,
My mind seems to fade away no worries or emotions.
I woke up in the back on a table I hear singing,
A womans soft angelic voice this cant be real I must be dreaming
Extreme amounts of pain let me know that this is real
the singing nurse says welcome back with a smile like it was no big deal.
We cant get the bleeding to stop so we had to give you more
I hear sobbing so I turn my head and try to focus on the door,
the crying was coming from my mom who was sitting by my side.
The doctors tell her that theres a problem and were going for a ride,
we dont have surgeons here to help you.
Sounding hopelss and exhausted she sighed, we've done all we can do.
We're sending you to Portland, they'll make you good as new.
Falling in and out of consciousness, we reach our destination.
On the verge of giving up hearing family say stay strong, gives me motivation.
Getting rushed off the ambulance and seeing my loved ones tears
made me feel more strength, but striked some sudden fear.
Like will I make is through the day to see them smile again,
Or is this my time to go will this be my end.
Later I awoke to see everyones relieved and anxious smile,
I asked how long I've been out it seemed like quite a while.
My mom said you've been under for a couple days,
you've had two surgeries but dont worry both of them went okay.
I closed my eyes and smiled to myself I'm thankful the angles heard me pray.
By Evin cruz
Copyright © Evin cruz | Year Posted 2013
Long poem by
Robert Stoner Jr | Details |
The day has come, weeks and countless dollars invested in this moment.
All preparations have been made.
A myriad of nuts and bolts, inspected, tightened to torque.
Fluids fresh, topped to level, tire pressure lowered... maximum traction.
In rank and file I now sit filled with anticipation, fear, expectation.
This is the opportunity, test my El Camino, test myself.
Not just an El Camino to me, a shameful, prideful thing.
Nurtured and caressed through good times and bad.
An extension of hopes and dreams, a shared journey.
More than steel or monetary investment, an extension of self.
The sound of racers precedes me with each ensuing race... I move forward.
Loud speakers brashly announce events and results to enthusiastic spectators.
Calls of encouragement, support, pummel the track of competition.
Suddenly my name fills the air, with pride and anticipation...my time has come.
Two cars rumble in unison, a final turn to face the long black lane.
In slow roll through waiting water pit, then slam the accelerator to the floor.
Engine explodes in violent fury... burn out.
The car shudders under the sudden imposed force, tires scream as clouds of smoke envelope.
Traction found, the car charges forward,
to be wrenched to stop short of the light tree.
The smell of burned rubber chokes my lungs.
An explosion of equal fury, rages to my right.
Two cars creep to the staging line.
My car strains for release, surging ever harder.
Inches at a time I roll forward seeking the staging lights yellow glow.
Time stands still, two cars have staged in roaring crescendo.
Rumble, shudder, heart pounding, the goal so distant yet only one quarter mile away.
I am alone in a tunnel, lights flash down the tree.
Amber, amber, amber.
Engine at high idle, brakes struggle to reign in the waiting power.
Mind and heart tighten to task...Green Light.
More instinct than decision, release brake, drive the accelerator hard to floor.
Driven back into the seat, tires scream in need of grip then a surging leap forward.
Speed builds as engine roars, slam of gears in smooth progression, engine whining to near explosion.
The long black lane is my world, my life.
As if in flight, I move through space.
Building speed in steady force, all a blur on each side,
I dare not view the speedometer.
Nothing of import but a lighted sign ahead, the finish line, glory calls.
In forced effort to relax, let the car work, just guide in controlled chaos.
The heart reaches out to pull to end...then it's over.
Exhilaration, I am a junky in first rush, adrenaline flows in warm wash.
Coasting now, breaking, rolling to the track exit.
Retrieval of my time slip, joy or disappointment awaits, success is measured in tenths of seconds.
Thoughts of my next run burn hot within.
Robert Gene Stoner Jr
Copyright © Robert Stoner Jr | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
Stefanie Jones | Details |
Just a day
“Good Night Mom and Dad” I said before I went to bed. “We love you” they said as they closed the door
Mom comes in and wakes me up “Time to go to school” as my feet hit the floor
I got dressed and ate breakfast and got my book bag and now we are on the go
We sit in the car listening to music “It’s Friday I think I’m a little excited tho
“Alright baby we here” as mom open the door to let me get out
She closed the door and kissed me on the head told me she loved me before she pulled off
Another day of school and it close to Christmas
I can’t wait to see Ashley and Alexus, today is show and tell as I said in a whisper
We had learning center day and Boy! Was it fun!
Today was a free day and on Friday there isn’t much to learn
The room was quite when the was a knock at the door, the door opened
A man with a big gun was standing there; my classmates panicked and started to run
I heard a lot of noises and a lot of screams
I felt a sharp pain in my back as I dropped to my knees
In the distant I heard more screams and then everything went silent
Then I closed my eyes it went dark and on the cold floor I was dying
The other side
It’s Thursday night and off to bed we go
I kiss my 5 year old son Jaden and told him I loved him so
Alarm clock goes off and it’s around 6:15 in the morning
I shower got dress and woke up Jaden my little darling
Its Friday, I fixed him breakfast and we headed out for the this last day until the weekend
I enjoyed our little drives to school as we sat in the car singing
I opened the door to let him out once more
Kissed him on the head and told him I loved him ill pick him up around four
I’m at work drinking coffee just talked to my husband on the phone
Got at my desk started to work and the my office phone rung
It’s about 9:30 and it was Jaden’s school
I got the news he was dead and I started to puke
I’m crying uncontrollably don’t know my next move
My son is dead, I can’t believe this news
I hurried to the school in the best of my ability
I saw the school surrounded by medics, reporters, and police
I ran to a officer and demanded to see my son
He said “I’m sorry ma’am” I can’t do this at this time
At 9:32 my one and only son Jaden was pronounced dead
The shooter was 20 and took my son’s life in his own hands
The questions continue to flow through my head as I search for answers
I don’t need answers I need my son and his laughter
I am now sitting on his bed trying to swallow tears
My husband holds me close as reality nears
My little boy is gone among the other 19 kids
Heaven has 20 new angels now I hope he knew how much I love him as much as I did
(To the innocent lives that were lost in the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting)
Copyright © Stefanie Jones | Year Posted 2012
Long poem by
Galeo DS | Details |
Advertising triolet poem with narrative:
A four-wheel drive,even purchased as second-hand
Still runs smoothly and safe, never trundles around
With its superlative engine, mileage is grand
A four-wheel drive, even purchased as second- hand.
Best gasoline saver, once we've Toyota brand
A snazzy car for trippers, now we all have found
A four-wheel drive, even purchased as second hand
Pretty girls on drive lanes, feel like wearing their crown
My Second Hand Toyota Revo
I bought a second-hand car three years ago,
An old model of Toyota Revo;
I bought it from my cousin at Toyota company,
Who knew more about cars, but not me.
My two brothers have the knowledge, too
They took the car from her, I didn’t go,
When they brought it home, I was quite surprised,
Seeing it with less accessories, it didn’t suffice
What do I expect with a second-hand car?
My brothers were teasing me,they liked it so far,
Engine still worked well, they could do something,
Knowing some mechanical skills and distant driving.”
I was so complaisant and cool to let them do some repairs,
Replacement of missing accessories…car wash here and there;
At last, my second- hand car looked brand new again,
But the problem was, I didn’t have driving skills and license.
My younger brother drove the car for me,
Our first drive-test was very happy;
Suddenly, a thing hit its windshield so terribly
When we went down the car, an old man asked an apology.
“I’ve accidentally hit a rubble with my mower,” he confessed,
He apologized heartily with sincerity on his face;
My brother tapped his shoulder and smiled,
Put his arm on my shoulder, then we bid him goodbye.
Back on the highway for our joyful riding
With my nephew and nieces’ cheerful singing;
Crack on windshield was slowly spreading
A lightning trace which had badly needed my gluing.
After a long drive, we’d reached a huge repair shop
Replacement of windshield, my true pocket’s mishap
When we went back home, the car looked brand new again
Second-hand Toyota Revo was still a nice car then.
I hope I’ll have time to learn driving someday
To drive my manual car, “though it’s difficult, maybe
Meantime, my brothers had volunteered to be my chauffeurs
For they love me that much as their one and only sister.
All Rights Reserved
Dec. 15, 2015 8.54pm (narrative and 12-syl triolet poem)
Contest: In Women We Trust Cars
Sponsor: Poet PD/Linda
Copyright © Galeo DS | Year Posted 2015
Long poem by
Tom Quigley | Details |
Google Maps told me today
that my Phoenix to Tucson drive
would last an hour and fifty-seven minutes.
At excactly two-nineteen I would arrive.
But surely it is folly to assume
How could Google get this right?
Even with up to the minute news,
a machine has no foresight.
Plus, Google assumes the speed limit,
Or an average driver at best.
But I'd say my right foot's a bit heavier
than any computer could guess.
I thought not of it until I exited
I-10 at two o clock.
Easily I'd be there, with time to spare
by any sort of luck
At first all things did go my way,
Green stoplights lit the road
But that accident that would happen on the way--
somehow Google must have known...
As home drew nearer, and time grew dearer,
Google's prescience in my mind did grow.
What else could Google tell me, algorithms so clear,
What else do I want to know?
Perhaps drivers are carefully modeled
every single time we hit "return,"
How fast or slow, in sun or snow,
Would we make a hasty turn?
But the traffic patterns it has compiled
over days, months, weeks, years.
How naive my self-satisfied smile
when I thought I'd have time to spare.
Surely the endless exobytes
analyzed by Google's central mind
can shine a bright, definitive light
on all we'd want to find.
I thought to Google my last day alive,
who wouldn't want to see
will it be quick and painless, long and slow,
when and how my demise will be?
Who will the kids marry?
How many cookies is too many?
Will it rain two years from Sunday?
When will we go to Mars?
What will be my next four cars?
Will the sun explode on a Monday?
When will the fridge get fixed?
Bonds, stocks, or lotto tix?
Or will I just get eaten by a bear?
When will politics not be corrupt?
Will all the seas dry up?
When will I lose my hair?
You see, Deep blue, Skynet, or Hal's insight
have nothing on Google's great Ubermind.
Refined algorithms processing the endless bytes
Must know the destiny of Mankind.
And then at two seventeen I passed the last stoplight
The curtain started to fall on the scene.
My fate was sealed, mighty Google did know
The inevitability of two-nineteen.
But from nowhere, an elderly neighbor's Chevy
unanticipated by the universal mind,
did turn in front of me, slow and heavy,
and I was trapped behind.
First was shock, but then relief.
Somehow Google miscalculated his trajectory.
What mercy, our fates remains to be conceived,
I knew as I pulled in at two-twenty.
My fate remains inscrutable
my future a blank slate
Life's gyrations still un-Google-able
After all, I was a minute late.
Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016
Long poem by
rene Chabriere | Details |
No one in this morning
The road is deserted,
It's too early under the gray sky,
The veins of my hands,
Salient hands on the wheel
The look Elevated
The white line scrolls,
The colored houses, fled,
Since the curves crossed,
The white studs punctuate
the road, pedal to the floor,,
Not any possible gesture
Just those, tiny,
Extending the machine
According to the gray ribbon
Powered by the wheels
Swallowing the consistency,
of traffic signs,
blurred by speed,
The craft carried by his power,
Shares my drunkenness ...
Almost brought a strength,
Internal and autonomous
The motor flexibility
It shiny metal body,
Discreet comfort inside ...
And suddenly ,this is
At the end of the turn,
As an immobile sphinx,
His unexpected question,
The deflected trajectory,
Gravel under the tires,
The crazy slide,
Nothing controls it
A jump above the parapet,
A single flight without return
Net stopped by an heavy shock
Cons below ...
A brief moment, I remember ,
The covering waves,
Again and again,
Distributing its foam
On the rocks ...
No one in this morning
The road is still deserted
It's too early in the gray sky.
Personne en ce matin,
La route est déserte,
Trop tôt sous le ciel gris,
Les veines de mes mains,
Saillantes, mes mains sur le volant,
Le regard en plongée,
La ligne blanche qui défile,
Les maisons de couleur, enfuies,
Dès les courbes franchies,
Les criques entr'aperçues,
Les poteaux blancs rythment
le trajet, pédale au plancher,,
Plus de geste possible,
Que ceux, infimes,
Prolongeant la machine,
Suivant le ruban gris,
Propulsé sous les roues
Avalant la consistance,
des panneaux de signalisation,
floutés par la vitesse,
L'engin porté par sa puissance,
Presque porté d'une force,
Interne et autonome,
Moteur en souplesse,
Confort intérieur discret ...
Et c'est là soudain,
Au sortir du virage,
Qu'il y a ce chien,
Comme un sphinx immobile,
Sa question imprévue,
La trajectoire déviée,
Les gravillons sous les pneus,
La glissade folle,
Que rien ne contrôle,
L'univers qui bascule,
Le bond au-dessus du parapet,
Un vol sans retour,
Stoppé net par le lourd choc,
Je revois un bref instant,
Les vagues les recouvrant,
Refluant, se brisant,
Encore et encore,
Distribuant son écume
Sur les rochers...
Personne en ce matin,
La route est encore déserte,
Il est trop tôt sous le ciel gris.
RC - mai 2014
Copyright © rene Chabriere | Year Posted 2014
Long poem by
Shadow Hamilton | Details |
First let us take our friend the horse
a noble creature who serves us well
supplying us with a source of good compost
ferrying us here and there in fine style
pulling carts and carriages with aplume
carrying riders proudly on their backs
seldom a traffic jam and smell the pure air
enjoy the freedom to gallop with the wind
Now let us take the motor car
this guzzles fuel at an alarming rate
spewing out poisonous fumes that pollute
and if you should have a crash a tangled heap
of near useless metal is all that remains
and people torn and broken trapped inside
and the queue of traffic stretching back
maybe cars are fast but they come at a high price
In olden days the fields were much smaller
quilts against the landscape so pleasing to see
the hedgerows full of flowers giving shelter
to a host of birds, insects and small animals
the stately shires furloughing the fields
laying the lines true and straight
their leisurely pace giving dormouse time
to scuttle away and find some safety
The big modern threshers and ploughs
need far bigger spaces to work so large fields
gone the pretty quilt work, gone most hedgerows
rushing over vast areas harvesting the crops
behind them lay the dead and injured bodies
of all the little creatures unable to flee the blades
now the crows move in to feast alive or dead they eat
so yes more crops fast harvested but at a high price
In days gone by we dwelt in villages and small towns
where most if not all knew one another by name
you could safely leave your house unlocked
and your children played freely in the streets
neighbours helped one another in whatever way needed
and shared the little they themselves had gladly
street parties were times of great delight
but best of all you truly knew your friends
Sky scrappers looming towering up high
stinky lifts that break leaving one trapped
danger round every corner, its each one for themselves
rapists, burglars, murderers and plain gangsters
have a field day in the metropolis with easy pickings
here one keeps ones children safe and tucked away
concrete blocks of houses along concrete streets
everywhere you see strangers at what a high price
When one stops and really thinks about it all
are these advances really worth the price we pay
does it really matter with the vast food piles
if it takes a little longer to do the harvest
cars are all every well but wheres the romance?
the quivering flesh of an excited horse galloping
does far more for me than a petrol guzzling beast
I admit I prefer the less complicated times of yore
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2013