Best Benders Poems
Winter descended upon the prairie plain
Pelting the ground with freezing rain
Nipping, biting this cold morning air
Thin layers of ice coated everywhere
You get out on the road but don't step on the brake
That would be your biggest mistake
For it would make you slide and spin
This would start your heart pump'in within
The accidents, fender benders take there toll
Some cars or even semi's can roll
The roads become a treacherous place
You crawl like a turtle at a snails pace
You dread having to go out that day
Driving is dangerous they say
you get behind the wheel and pray
No one will back end you along the way
10/27/19
"Better Than Ever"
Took a lot of tries
Opened up my eyes
And became wise
Thought
A lot
Took a shot
And got after what I sought
Fought against torment and rot
So oft
People mock
It never ceases to stop
Finally connected the dots
I took it to a higher notch
Time is what it cost
Pondering, whether I ought to or not
As I sat atop a peculiar spot
Where many lives were lost
On a morning with frost
It's a sphere, not flat
As time continues to elapse
This is where I'm currently at
Staying on track
Honing my craft
Had some nice chats and so many laughs
On this world, I've had a blast
Won't be the first or the last
Can't let the opportunity pass
When she crosses my path
Because I'm still looking for my other half
What an adventure!
It's been a pleasure
Doing better than ever
Being clever
Through endeavors
Handling stressors
And pressure
In any weather
Getting an accurate measure
I found some treasure
While in the air was a zephyr
Never
Going to be a pretender
From January to December
I might be of the same feather
But I don't always want to flock together
Can't surrender
Or settle for lesser
A lot of benders
Eyes slightly redder
Stoking some embers
I still remember
All the splendor
God bless her
I wrote you a letter
And left it on the dresser
Beside a craft made with leather
Some folks follow all the rules;
Others like to bend 'em,
Feeling like it's only fools
Who staunchly would defend 'em.
Which way that you lean begins
When you're just out of diapers.
Followers fear that their sins
Will make them pay the pipers.
Benders, though, might get a rush
From tempting fate and winning,
Even if they have a brush
With blame at the beginning.
We each know where we belong
When rules are in our faces
And since we all hate being wrong,
We never will change places.
Interconnectedness
Life with all its twisted
Train wrecks
Contorted metal
grappled around
steel, disfigurement.
And at the heart
of it all, I want to crash
with you. Be a witness
to your incriminating truth
Twisted in ways
censorship can't explain
Remove stop signs at intersections
and T Bone with you,
Bleep certain words
as I drive right through
Swerve on curves
Creep through school crossings
and race towards
Photogenic finishes
Connectedness
like snowfall on Georgia freeways
cautiously making incredible
feats of disbelief
writing under the influence
of you, hard to avoid
your touch even following
the six second rule.
I want to rub paint with you
have fender benders
and crash our bodies in ways
our spirits become unrecognizable
as to who belongs to who...
Remember how intersection negotiations
and lane integrity created anxiety
when you first learned to drive?
Collide
THE SPACE DREAM CATCHER
Shaded particles of worlds, minuet fragments of space debris,
Cascading amongst the blackened vials of the solar sphere,
Tiny glittering remnants twinkling in a black abyss of isolation,
A cold field of starlight diamond dust.
At point zero’s inner flash point, lies the flat line of complete
Silence, a deadened zone of no return, suctions seductive
Realm a black hole in the center of banishment to existence.
Or is this the scientific interpretation of the end of our
Universe, nay feel the tribal feathers flickering in the
Vast void, releasing the winds of freedom liberation,
It speaks ever so softly, whispering in ancient ledges native
Tongues, of the sacred dream catcher, in the heart
Of our universe.
Layers of the textured timeless, sparkling finite tears
Of the infinite drifting in this special anomaly, what
Tapestry’s blanket could be more beautiful than thus,
Delicately woven on the looms of the angels of heaven
Themselves.
A spiritual illumination of tranquility's butterfly,
Soaring amongst the tidal rifts of time and space,
Fluttering wings of inspiration, imagination, uplifting
Igniting this Solaris cloak, awaking the eye of this
Sleeping dreamer, and oh how do the stars wink
With its brilliance of shine.
Light wave benders ushering, yielding to the swaying
Brushes strokes of gravitational artistry of the divine,
Art imitating life let it lives, the unconscious spiritual
Presence inhales, exhales, breathing in its uniqueness
Of refinement a beating heart, ageless.
Fly forward sacred butterfly, deliver our tribal
Message of enlightenment unto the Great Spirit
On the heights vast divide, feel the winds of liberation
Beneath thy wings currents, and merge beyond,
Limitations dreaming realm.
Shaded particles of worlds, minuet fragments of space debris,
Cascading amongst the blackened vials of the solar sphere,
Tiny glittering remnants twinkling in a black abyss of isolation,
A cold field of starlight diamond dust.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Her hair's so black, the blue is breaking through.
Centre-parted with furrow crown to fore,
Perfectly placed and kept in position
As pretty red ribbons bind the bunches.
Her face is crazed and tanned to leather.
Too many benders on Benidorm beach.
Her mouth is creased, possibly from decades
Of dragging long and hard on king-size tipped.
But her lips: Aah! A work of art in crimson.
Today she wears a short-sleeve summer frock.
Floral pattern with red to match her lippy.
Her batwings flap-flop like Labrador ears.
Her small white socks sit snug in hiking boots.
She is the little girl in the old lady.
Time corrupts. Her comfort, her addiction.
After her tour of town she sidles off
To swig Bushmills on a bus-station bench.
Guess who must help to carry her back home.
Born to different fathers they were never that close
But their mother insisted they keep in touch
They never had much in common apart from the love for their Mum
One was drawn by the magnetism of corporate trappings
The other mesmerised by wailing guitars and thrashing drums
Hair looking like a ruby ball cactus, eyes wild and piercing
Did he land face first in a tackle box? No one can be sure or is game to ask
Whilst Prada adorns the chiselled body of the astute looking banker
Clean cut freshly shaven with a healthy amount of Giorgio Armani evident
Hours of pain are clear to see on the colourful skin of the punk rocker, all with a story I’m sure
Many a brow is raised and resembles a plague of fox moth caterpillars at a rave party as he enters
In the up market drinking hole he’s as inconspicuous as a free roaming Emu in a supermarket
White collars fill the air with murmurings of big deals achieved and salary bumps
It’s a Friday afternoon and an air of animation is evident in the words of many
The banker orders another round; more beer and water promptly arrive
Concern is forwarded to his brother fearful of him falling in with the wrong crowd
Genuine unease for the circles of friends in which he chooses to associate with
Party drugs, binge drinking, womanising and all night benders all entrenched in his everyday life
Why can’t you just go home to your wife baring flowers like you used to he asks?
A grunt is all he can muster as he swills on his beer, your losing touch with reality!
And then like a boxer waiting for his opening he hits him with a sympathetic plea for more money
A look as if his team had just lost the “Big One” with seconds remaining decorates his face
I can’t keep doing this he replies; He then calls their Mum “it’s time for intervention!”
The ink covered rocker is in tears as his brother embraces him; I love you he whispers together we will get through this
He escorts him to his private limousine waiting out front
One of the many perks of being an internationally acclaimed artist.
My manager knows this great facility…..
The mode of transportation I prefer,
is walking with my feet.
There’s so many things to see
along the way that are so neat .
If you see some juicy berries,
you can stop awhile and eat.
There’s no back seat drivers,
or fender benders to run you off the street.
Therefore if I had my choice
of car, plane or feet.
I’d have to choose to travel
with my own two feet
For Barbara Gorelick “Your Favorite Form of Transportation
Most votes went to Spender or Spendy
While few went to Thrifty
Who couldn’t keep pace
And fell out of the race
For he came up lame
Right during the game
But what was his name?
Who cares
Speaking of who cares
About Spendy or Spender
Because either of them
Will go on spending benders
Just to satisfy
Their central bank guy
Whom they can’t deny
And is the reason why
(Though most don’t know why)
They all voted for Spendy or Spender
And could care less about Thrifty
Oh my
(And no, Thrifty is NOT Biden)
And now let’s speak of Paparazzi
Who show us things that we should not see
They think they are so hotsy-totsy
Let Mama have the job
Yes, I’d prefer the Mamarazzi
I’m sure they’d show us how to not be
They’d surely take a better shot, see
As Papa’s such a slob
But now let’s move to Billygoats
Why can’t they be called Millygoats
They then would not be silly goats
Let’s give the girls a chance
And what of Lazysusan’s fate
Not fair, though now it’s much to late
I think that Lazypeter’s great
They’d have a fine romance
Unless he is all Petered out
As I am with this goofy bout
More gender benders left to scout
But now I’m tired, so Sue me
20 Claps of Thunder
20 claps of thunder
19 kids are shouting
18 streets are flooding
17 lanes rerouting
16 lights are flashing
15 horns that blow
14 sirens wailing
13 weather men didn't know
12 umbrellas going up
11 old ladies fall down
10 times zero yards mowed
9 fender benders in town
8 tornado watches
7 cars skidding by
6 people wearing raincoats
5 birds in the sky
4 baseball games cancelled
3 little wet dogs barking
2 trees blowing in the wind
1 afternoon sky darkening
What is it with some men?
Is this what those nuptials meant?
You are turned into his mother figure,
A holy cow, meals, housework, rigour,
Maybe there's no luck in love,
So much for wedding doves....
"I am not your mother!"
I wished I'd yelled an another,
Maybe I don't know how to train a man,
Maybe a manual should come in a can,
Then you could have twins in tins,
Fully formed, no nappy pins,
Maybe it is the male gender,
They really want nannies for their benders,
Is this what those nuptials meant?
What is with some men?
The trackmarked pain on the televisions face raining out and cocooning his grave was not a
very good advertisement for reincarnation Wake up at last near the worlds end crescent in
fetal shape symptomatic riding electric spasms of rampantly distasteful nervous system
Insolent huge anxious insect squirming monster specimen hid in a safe watchful eyes
blinded by heaven next to me was vending machine annihilation Cartwheel of half eaten hint
of red tapeworm breathing concrete pages of dreary neon lighted soul suffocating streets
filed to a pulp Beer drinking benders on Saturday mornings no concept of time vibrations
running spit on floor of reality Psychological moral and artistic problems suicide gallows
with teeth in a grotesque nightmare interlude of cellular panic Your old and valued friend
of detrimental poetic tendency has defected there is no treatment - is it wrong to make
the patient as comfortable as possible? You should have seen a glass of whiskey slaying
Goliath on a respirator superior yet terrified the frivolity felt more lubricated then
usual (mixing another scotch stroking his brain) now that the music has faded I will sleep
until the end of time in a porcelain bathtub Capillary incision catalyzes tongues of a
flare ten shades of green that flings ignited subject exploding into space “Come on out
old troll, let us put daisies in your hair” Sanctuary in the embalming to emaciate the
wings Do angels ever cut themselves shaving?
Paper-clip on my floor,
I wonder what he's there for.
Holding all my life together.
That little guy's my friend forever.
Fixing fender-benders ending
Up inside my mind.
Little friend, you're very shiny
Even though you're oh so tiny,
I can tell you're mine.
Silly piece of wire,
Paper-clip, you never tire,
Holding all my thoughts together.
Here I find you, on my floor.
Tell me what you lay there for.
Maybe I should pick you up;
You don't belong; you know enough
To stay off my carpet, dear.
I see you, for I'm laying here.
I see you sitting, bent around;
I see you 'cause I'm on the ground.
Something 'bout you caught my eye;
You really are a funny guy.
Lay there on my floor so still;
I bet you'd sit there longer still,
If I decide to leave you be.
How 'bout I'm you
And you be me.
Paper-clip, on my floor,
I'll never know what you're there for.
Some got a pathological need,
a dirty obsession for that coffin wallpaper
They wrapped themselves in the black widow veil
of murderous deceit
For what?
To taste the yellow snow
of an unclean life insurance policy,
a crimson crypt guarantee
They’re willing to scarlet signature go
to the pit of perdition below
With the gnashing of their plaque teeth,
their lying gangrene gums
have a bottomless covetous bleed
Oh how filthy is the color of greed!
Their gain green ways
is dirty money laundry madness
A purple reign whitewash rinse
is obscenely falling at a Faustian pace
The prince of this world
got them brown nose benders,
those bloodhound coin sniffers,
on a silver urn lucre loco motive chase
But the code blue folly of it all,
the gold digger worms
do-do come to a flatline crawl
And that dollar bill cadaver feed
is a pink ink lip lust envy
for violet dye poison ivy —
A sin dung beetle sordid concede
Oh how filthy is the color of greed!