Best Barreling Poems
One Texan day, a man close to his prime,
sat down on a curb beside a tree.
It was an empty street; there was no crime
nor danger anywhere that he could see.
But suddenly, the world he knew would cease to be.
He’d lived a goodly life and sacrificed
to leave his home and get a law degree.
If there were a man I knew with attributes of Christ,
he would be that man, for the epitome
of someone with great love and compassion was he.
I know this because he was my brother,
and within our somewhat crazy, blended family,
I would have to say there was no other
among us all who worked so tirelessly
to be a friend to all while meeting all his goals. Ah, life’s finality!
He was on the threshold of his dream to practice law.
Then out of nowhere, as he sat there on that empty street,
the headlights of a drunk kid’s car he saw
barreling down on him. My brother Dale, so sweet,
was – in an instant- gone, for life sometimes can so unfairly fleet.
Written Oct. 19, 2016
for Broken Wings' Words Drowned In Tears Poetry Contest
The Bullet from My Gun
I am propelled like a bullet from a gun barreling through space,
Through your flesh,
Through the time you have misspent on this Earth now ending,
Too late to regret the bending trigger of my gun.
I penetrate your vagina,
Your mind,
Your sense of inner self,
Tearing through your false resistance like a runaway train.
I cannot stop, I am momentum now.
Ripping through your many lives,
Decimating your hopes for the peace tomorrow that now will never come.
Because my trajectory is certain and yours is a wet pipe dream.
You are obliterated into fragments by the curling of my finger.
Now Isis will never find you.
Fear is still a man’s best friend:
And a little pressure goes a long ways.
A warning sounded on my phone -
An elongated beep -
So loud it must be meant to wake
Whoever is asleep…
Alerting me that there could be,
Within my current range,
A dangerous flash flood, which I
Found really kind of strange.
There is no river and no lake
For many miles around
And certainly no ocean
Barreling towards higher ground.
Yet I was warned, “Stay off the roads
And don’t attempt to drive
For if a flash flood strikes you would
Be lucky to survive.”
The warning did its job and scared me
Near out of my pants.
Although the sun’s come out, you think I’d drive?
No, not a chance!
Two days without
The biggest jerk I ever knew
Two days without him
God, what am I gonna do.
I'm lost inside this house
going crazy out of my mind
I don't know what to do with myself
Exasperated for hours at a time.
I'm not spilling tears
Just awaiting his return
I'm not feeling fear
I'm just lonely for his arms.
Out the window
My eyes continue to gaze
Searching for his car
Looking for his face.
Headlights pull in
Flashing at my eyes
My heart beats harder
My spirit lights afire.
My feet moving
of their own accord
Running, leaping
Barreling into his arms.
Smile breaks
Like the light
From clouds
On a sunny day.
Eyes Glow
Fireflies of sapphire
Twinkling in the dark
Like a diamond heart.
Fingers reaching
Touching and rubbing
Pulling closer
Feeling whole at once.
Lips busying themselves
To smother with a kiss
Where does it end
Where does it begin.
Two whole days
Without the biggest Jerk I know
I don't want to do it again
I don't want my love to go.
(note: The site restrictions don't allow long epic poems, so I have split this into 6 segments, each should run straight on from the previous one.)
THE EYE OF THE SEA
Or
The Rime of the Ancient Kubla Kahn on the Road to Mandalay
There washed ashore a devil’s whore
Who claimed he’d never been paid,
Near dead from Sin, or weatherin’
Yet feared to loose his blade.
We did our best to ease his rest,
But our experts all were vexed:
The Old Wives College exhausted their knowledge;
The doctors cursed their texts.
Wracked with pain his life had waned
His eyes were growing dim,
His final words were barely heard:
Everything looked grim.
With chicken pills we cured his chills,
For strength we gave him broth,
His brow was mopped, his temperature watched,
We swaddled him in sailcloth.
Then from afar with strengthened heart
As if ‘twere heaven’s game
His mien changed, he had regained
The pilot to his flame.
In heartened mood we gave him food,
And bade his tale be told;
And so he spoke for the price of a toke
And a butcher’s bag of gold.
“ ‘Twas in the port of Herringford,
Where all the cows lie down,
A skipper talked, he claimed he sought
A crew of great renown.
The wind was high in a sunless sky,
The waves were barreling in,
And word got round of men to be found
That night at The Mortal’s inn.
At eight o’clock the bolts were shot
And all were locked within,
With muttered words of rumours heard
And lubricant of Gin.
The Captain coughed and glanced around
For conversations shed,
With laser gaze and aged malaise,
In a darkened voice he said:
‘Into the storm at the crack of dawn
We sail on the morning tide,
Let no man here betray his fear,
His passion or his pride!’
The aim of the endeavour was legend’ry treasure,
The fabled crystal ship of the Prince,
Lost years before off the Straits of Nepal,
And famously quested for since.
Our boat, ‘The Eye,’ was a Barquentine,
Just a quarter league in length,
She sailed as sweet as a sackful of eight,
With grace and speed and strength.
Twelve good men without pretence
Agreed to the journey ahead,
But the cheery tales of places sailed
Belied their inner dread.
The crew we got were a hardy lot,
Experienced one and all,
But none were fools and caution ruled
When it came to signing aboard.
Continued on The Eye of the Sea part 2
Unbearable thoughts barreling through my head
Decaying in this silent chamber...
Where I desperately cry for help
Words come out useless...I have no capability to yelp
They haven't collapsed in the hands of the unforgiving jail-keeper
This pain grows in my bones...making me weaker
No one bothers to consider me
Circulated by envious glory
That snicker at my carrion body as it drops in dripping failures
Dragged by the sickening thought of living with jailers
As if i had no outlook to life...
I'm still placed in this cold-heartened chamber
Because I'm drenched in silence...
haunted by the deafening atmosphere
sensing a load of terrorized fear
Shame embraced me, never leaving my presence
Cautious of the hovering thoughts,
transforming itself into my dreadful, panicky past
This hopelessness doesn't seem to matter
In this chamber of deceitfulness
Someday...hopefully Someday...
This silent chamber will shatter
For now, I'll abide in this loathsome,
silent chamber
Until God, My Savior, will shatter this wretched place
Into smithereens
Hurricane Irma is barreling down with its monster storm,
Churning 185 mile an hour winds that have eerily formed.
The U.S. is afraid what it will do when it makes landfall.
Unfortunately forecasters can’t make the exact call.
Floridians are buying generators and boarding up their homes…
There’s no telling where this catastrophic storm will roam.
This hurricane is unprecedented and a clear danger.
After Hurricane Harvey, hurricane devastation is no stranger.
A Cat five storm is 500 times stronger than a Cat One.
Floridians, it’s time to secure your families and run.
The evacuations have begun… the traffic will be massive.
If you are in the storm’s path, you can’t afford to remain passive.
9/5/17
Hurricanes Contest
Julie Rodeheaver sponsor
~Awarded 3rd Place~
The seashore lets through cracks of light
And is the cradle of a bird in endless flight
Loss to the bounds of sea and sky
Plummeting and barreling through invisible doors
Hoping to always reach a higher epiphany of being
The seashore is the entrance way to all of this and more
As I stand with my feet in the sand
And beckon the gods to show me all that they are
The shells made of infinitesimally tiny glittering particles
Open up their eyes and open their souls
Asking me to trace their loving back into the beginning of time
Splitting open the sky, lighting the night sky into short bursts of day.
The crash, the scream of pain, come barreling from the sky to thine ears, it will find its way.
Shedding tears, the sky, in its pain, its dance with death, sends life to the earth.
The sky is split with light once more, then returning to darkness the, the cry is heard once more.
Growling. No longer a cry of pain, but a sign of anger is heard as once again the sky of the night is turned to the day.
The flash once more.
The cry goes up, sharper and shorter than before, then the stillness of night consumes all once again.
Small strikes follow, but the cry's have faded to slight groans.
The tears have slowed their flow and now end completely.
A shudder and a final groan signal the end of the battle.
The strikes move on to destroy another sky with its reign of anger once more.
(Historical train-ride on the first Transcontinental Railroad in 1870 from Omaha to Ogden aboard the Union Pacific Railroad) © 2009 (Jim Sularz)
Morning breaks again, we chug out to Bryan and Carter,
at Fort Bridger, lives Chief Wash-a-kie.
Another steep grade, snow-capped mountains to see,
down below, there’s Bear Valley Lake.
Near journey’s end, some eighty miles to go,
at Evanston’s rail shops, and hotel.
Leaving Wahsatch behind, where there’s the grandest divide,
with fortressed bluffs, and canyon walls.
A chasm’s ahead, Hanging Rock’s slightly bent,
a thrilling ride, rushing past Witches’ Cave.
A lot more to see, from Pulpit Rock to Echo City,
to a tall and majestic tree.
It’s a picnic stop, and a place to celebrate,
marching Legions, that crossed a distant trail.
Proud immigrants, Mormons and Civil War veterans,
it’s here, they spiked a thousand miles of rail!
We’re now barreling down Weber Canyon, shooting past Devil’s Slide,
there’s a paradise, just beyond Devil’s Gate.
Cold frothy torrents from Weber River, splash up in our faces,
and spill west, to the Great Salt Lake.
It’s a long ways off, from the hills and bluffs of Omaha,
to a place called – “God’s promised land.”
And it took dreaming, scheming, guts and sinew,
to carve this road with calloused hands.
From Ogden, we’re heading west to Sacramento,
we’ll forge ahead on CP steam.
And when we get there, we’ll always remember –
Stops Along an American Dream.
“Nothing like it in the World,”
east and west a nation hailed.
All aboard at every stop,
along the first Transcontinental Rail!
(The End)
Some cat entered my room one night
I thought it was a ghost
It smelled like something had just died
But I must oblige my guest as the host
I turned on the light and there it was
An obnoxious opossum at best!
Whoa! Forget my host duties, cous!
Take the room—I’m an unhappy guest!
I left the house with a shutter
Before I realized I was heavily surrounded
By cats on all sides, up and under
The house they had all just rounded!
In truth I was perturbed on all levels
That I began to realize in horror
That damn opossum had spawned these little devils!
And tonight I must end this terror!
I then ran straight to the kitchen
Aware of the opossum inside
If I give up the tuna and ditch um’
Perhaps I’ll escape this night alive
The persistent cats scratched at the holes
Those buggers—those meddlers!
They could have been thieves—if not trolls!
Their yowls would scare sumo wrestlers!
Worst of all in this dilemma
Tomorrow was grocery day
There were no more cans of tuna
All my fish had swam away!
Somehow one got in
And the rest came barreling through
I ran toward my room to him
The opossum looked so distressed and blue
The little beady eyes pierced my soul
And I knew from then on he was my friend
He only meant to hide from the furry little trolls
And escape a most pitiful end!
I made up my mind at last
And picked up my trusty broom
Come on in—I dare yah tah pass!
Ain’t no feline coming through this room!
Glowing eyes burned with intent
And the yowling grew loud as hell
The little bullies think they can take my guest!
They’ll fly like birds they will!
That night was a battle like none other
A battle I will proudly say I won
I gained the friend of my life—a brother
My pet’s a load of fun!
As much as I love a neighbor cat
They are a little scary as a race
Thankfully a broom will push them back
And put them in their place
My opossum is a sweet little thing
And I protect him with my life
I’ll never judge a critter again
Till actions bring it to light
Grapes on the vine are heavy with flavor
Fruit fragrance softly blowing through the air
The harvest is near, then we may savor
Picking swollen orbs until vine is bare
From flower to ripened handle with care
Pressing, barreling, and aging takes years
Fine wine takes its time, to that I say, “Cheers!”
Written by: Shani Fassbender
For Dr. Ram Mehta's Contest: Rhyme Royal
Written May 25, 2016
There's coal in the air
Dust in their lungs
I'm left pondering
All that I've done
As a hazy cloud surrounds
The storm comes barreling
Engulfing this town I'm in
But as the son of a coal miner's daughter
I'm too far removed
From this rugged life that I'm
Supposed to be living
.
Thunderbolt!
Thunderclap!
Tonight,
somewhere above
the overcast sky,
the gods hold
an open bowling
tournament.
The earth
shudders, then
violently trembles
as gigantic balls
crash, roll and roar
overhead,
barreling noisily
down titanic
bowling alleys,
exploding, blasting
away at colossal
tenpins!
Thunderclap!
Thunderbolt!
.
(The final part of my serial "Do Not Listen" poem. I had written this months ago, but hadn't felt confident about posting it--until now and with a few edits.)
___
Do Not Glisten, Child! of my early past.
Do you still desire to shake this Hand of the Age
so black in depth and red from nightshade?
Rather I would buy you a milkshake from a Rocket's,
and dip for but a short time in our unified happiness. To face or not to face
the sun indifferent as the Boatman?
When she's isles,
the secret plane of reality is that negative abyss, et al..
Destroy all the clocks and time does not fall,
Saturn's mind is a wherewithal,
the seductive lilting Southern drawl
loots itself a mighty hall…and they act surprised. So very surprised
to see their blue as red on the linoleum floor.
Oh? Had you not predicted thusly,
when you two strode arm-in-arm along the thoroughfare,
with that stupid smile embracing the air?
And what hear you there? Indeed.
The mermaid's melody, the siren's sonata
all starving for accompaniment: the percussive heartbeat of hope:
Seven kingdoms
and a last fraying rope. A last
fraying
smile.
Ha ha ha! Why do I laugh? You know full well, but since you've asked!
Black Stereo, black clothes--black month of June! Black Yin
completely black!
Rain thine essences down upon this lowly serf,
show me the footage of a black cat
with a caramel nose, soul of heaven,
pressing lovingly into my chest, kneading,
purring and licking my rose
cheeks blooming above dead Western Gilgamesh,
then Garuda me as you open your mouth to dream
'n' out ‘n’ out ‘n’ out dives soundlessly...
The Unraveling.
I cannot wait for quietus debate, barreling down like
Do Not Listen. Clog
goes the weasel,
clogging the years, so silence the seas
and clog your arteries
with this sweetest dessert: iced love drizzled with liquor, sprinkled
with broken vein glass:
A Nobody’s Wish to Eat.