Best Car Park Poems
No flame within!
do I hold for you
no delightful delicacy
shall I put to rhyme.
No picturesque words
in italics of your
woeful wildlife, no
acknowledgement of
the ancient mariner, he
that crossed the margin
of our “Atlas of the world.”
(Still in use, [I believe] in the
old stone museum.)
One can easily live in fear
of your many mordant moods,
to see you capture the
embracing horizon, where warring
clouds fondle the sunlight,
and the departing QE 2 is
reduced to microcosm.
How can one live in awe of
you, when at the end of each
day you snatch at the light of
sustenance, therefore
giving license to the veil
of damnation, soon to be cast
out of the east, driving impending
fears to languish upon the
unholy waters of the Styx?
(An extraction of the mind,
an evaporation of the memory
the spray dried brain
tossed into oblivion.)
Yet each morning an
interval to one’s ongoing
nightmare, when with renewed
levitation, the new light reprieved!
Begins avidly it’s universal
journey across Manukau’s
“Pack ‘n’ Save” Car park.
Oh yes! It is so easy to hate you;
you that brought the rest of
the world here, you that constitutes
a world within a world, that,
where the cycle of life creates it’s
own constitution, each player
judged on cue, to become an act of
fodder, mobile supermarkets
in ferocious competition with
nothing at all to give.
“Unless death itself is a gift!”
Upon the surface your
treachery still lingers, there,
tenacious tentacles lurk
within the sedulous surf,
groping blindly at sedated
rocks, those pinnacles of sanctuary
that harbour the weary,
support the rod.
Only when gravitation truly
intervenes, does the perpetual
invasion subside, leaving one in
no doubt about your promiscuity!
© Harry J Horsman 1993
I saw you were seating in the car park
In the wooden chair, no one I saw there
And you expected no one there by heart
But I crossed your path by a similar idea
We met unexpectedly in a place called "park"
Since all rooms were taken by busy hearts
And all the streets were filled with running cars
We are forced to park here, the place we share
Could this meeting up last for thousands of years?
I remember how I would cry myself to sleep
Night after night then I would wake the next morning
Dreading the moment I stepped into the
School's doors where you would all be waiting.
You'd smile and pretend like we were the best of friends
Till my parents left the car park then the words
Would fall from your mouths slashing and cutting,Burning into
my brain. You would all stand around me mocking me,jeering.
When you saw your words didn't effect me,you moved on to
The physical. I remember how your hands would wrap
around my throat,preventing me from breathing. You'd laugh at
My struggle to breathe. I remember how they would hold
Me down so I couldn't run while you would punch me repeatedly till I
Could no longer stand up right,till I lay in a pool of my own blood. How people
would just watch and laugh but never stop and intervene. The pain and
humiliation I felt only enhanced your glee.
I've grown stronger, now nobody would dare mock me. Sometimes
people aren't strong enough to survive this so they leave but some
people come out stronger...like me. I remember how you'd get so angry
Because I never cried,I never screamed I just took it silently.
When I look back I see how small you were and I try to feel anger at what you
did to me but I feel nothing. I try to hate you but I can't.
Maybe it's because I'm now successful and you have nothing to look forward to
but another gruelling day of pain and little food.
I feel no hate only sympathy towards the person I once feared but no longer do.
Now I look back and smile at how I could've stopped you and I know you
realised this too, now I know why you only ever hurt me when your friends were
around to hold me down. I admit you've ruined me in many ways. I can no
longer trust people,love people,no longer look people in the eye,but I look back
and smile because if you had never hurt me like you did I wouldn't be the
person I am today, I wouldn't be as strong and independent,as successful and
happy as I am today, I would never feel such a strong sense of justice like I do
now so I would like to thank you for making me a better person.
Thank you.
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Beware of the dingo and watch out for your goat,
he hates our current leader, but is unable to vote.
He’s been doing hard time for relations with a horse,
he finally escaped but then he was caught, of course.
Back to Yuma he will go in a red dress and cuffs,
sleeveless I might add as he huffs and puffs.
He’s pretty sneaky this dingo and he’s fond of our landscape,
if he catches wind of your sheep he might try to escape.
I pray Terry and Dave keep a close eye on this chap
the dingo is not picky about what he puts on his lap.
He’s a menace to ranchers and all animals in town,
even in the car park, on the low he is down.
The good folk in Milton Creek will surely watch for his return,
this dingo is full of disease and spreads a rash that will burn.
Don’t try to be a hero, if you hear him talking rough,
he’s been working his fingers and he was born keyboard tough.
Are you still here? Bullfrog? Is that really your bit?
Come on cupcake, you need to polish up your wit.
Do you shave your head or did it just all fall out?
Your poor little seed didn’t get to far past sprout.
Writer’s block for almost two years.
Wow, it would appear you had a few too many beers.
To much time in the car park, I think.
But bless your heart sweetie you do look pretty in pink.
The U.K. announced another lockdown and Jack thought oh my golly
So he headed down to his local store , determined to fill his trolley
At the loo rolls aisle his face lit up, he grabbed fifty for himself
And with a mocking laugh and a grin, he cleared the entire shelf.
Next on his list was pasta shells , there was only ten bags left
An old lady begged him for just one bag but Jack left her bereft
He then made his way to the bread aisle, without the slightest care
Many people stood just watching him and all they could do was glare.
Fresh baked bread white, brown and seeded; they all smelt so good
And he made sure he grabbed them all before anyone else could
Shower gels and bars of soap, well you can never have enough
He went back for another trolley 'cos, he wanted lots more stuff.
The alcohol aisle was next, for some whiskey, wine and beers
And as he queued at the checkout to pay, there were some nasty jeers
He wheeled the trolleys to his car; he'd completed his shopping task
Then drove out of the car park and out the window threw his mask.
His car broke down halfway home and he tried to flag folks down
He wanted to get to the garage that was at, the other end of town
Jack swore under his breath muttering, why's this happening to me
As cars went whizzing past him he thought, how mean some folks can be.
Dedicated to all the panic buyers who think of no one else but themselves
Written 3rd November 2020.
after doors close after hours when scarlet neon flickers out red-light nights fill voids of need my body is a ripped flower my throat tingles to the burn of vodka-fire gleaning the gleaming water-washed street for an answer to the latest outstanding bill sadly grateful for the slightest footfall twenty for oral forty for full car park dark steam-heavy dark not streetwalking but streetstaggering in hollow-pod hell anaemic-ashy and vodka-fumy amorphous shadows loitering on durex-dotted waste ground in secret alleys back to dank brick or deep throating down on my knees skirt around thighs fingers come-pearled and slick come quick after doors close after hours when scarlet neon flickers out cold glitter of streetlights gleam of cold hard cash cold kisses colder touch no eye contact look away the cold nothingness that we say
Faces come at me as stricken
as graveyard moons.
The supermarket hangs heavy,
laden as it is with neon anchors.
The aisles are runways for empty eyes,
a few sections contain searching bodies.
She turns to me at the check-out,
she has me tagged;
wine bottles from the mark-down bin
rattle on the moving counter.
She clutches a red plastic pocketbook.
Brown knee-length boots, dimples.
Gold button earrings - worn-out pretty;
hard liquor in soft bottles.
There is just us, and the
shuttling hands of the shop-worker'
She has to talk. "Sorry," she says.
I wonder if I should apologize also?
I think we are just forgiving each other
for being here in an awkward moment,
in the late hour, exposed like this.
Outside, the car park is lifting off
into the night.
A thousand aliens are leaving
to search for salvation.
I can't look at them,
each face is a small moon shining.
Oil train sits in Lac Megantic
Town folk sleep not so frantic
Patrons socialize while they slept
Unannounced the train it crept
No such thing a train in idle
This one proved homicidal
Train engine fire silent alarm
Town unaware no fear of harm
First responders do arrive
Count all engines numbered five
Connected cars are seventy two
Full of crude what would you do
Disconnect these things on fire
Bigger problem no desire
Cut the risk to light the crude
This decision would be shrewd
Seventy two cars, assumed on brake
Town folk safe that slept on lake
Take in account train on slope
Some brakes off more danger the scope
Idle train crept no more
Picking up speed problem galore
This idle train left to chance
Never checked not even a glance
Explosion awakes town folk in slumber
Instantly town folk less fifty in number
People running saving some lives
Survivors to hear fifty bell chimes
Responsibility left to whom
This decision in the courtroom
On a slope a running car park
Driver responsible ticket don't bark
MMA you will be slandered
Go to hell with your train standard
You brought a man carrying sickle
In Quebec you control your vehicle
If you don't the charge is life
Stand in camera and take it in strife
Angry people you will see
Many more including me.
Left to idle a runaway
Change the law starting today
Always manned train must be
Someone in place we must see
Looking back cutting the cost
Was it worth all lives lost?
One more man not a big chore
Let these trains Idle no more
Supermarket Sweep
I arrive in the car park it’s full of cars
Battered and bruised and covered in scars
I drive up and down seeking a place
To leave my old banger while I enter the race!
I approach the doors - a trolley I need
Don’t forget parsley and sesame seed
Down the first aisle fresh lettuce I see,
Feeling for firmness, that’ll do me.
I turn the first corner, the trolley won’t come
A push in the back and a bruise on the bum!
Now this trolley’s fighting, it’s lost a wheel
Screeching and scraping an occasional squeal.
Pasta and pizza must not forget
And top up on brown sauce, I need some I bet.
As the trolley gets full, the fight just gets harder
But it will be worth it to top up the larder!
I pass the meat counter, a chicken I see
But I need one larger - that won’t even do me
Don’t forget stuffing it won’t be the same
And I really don’t like a brand with no name!
It’s nearly over, just beer and white wine
The latter for Mrs., the former is mine.
Now at the tills, the queue is quite short
Unload it again to pay for what’s bought
“Need help with packing?” I hear her say,
Not with the packing - I need help to pay!
Shock horror, my alarm clock failed,
twas six AM on a Monday morning
this summers day was just dawning,
my shift started at six, going to be late
on probation now wondering my fate,
quickly washed and dressed, in car
only half hour drive so not too far,
luckily traffic was sparse quite desolate
scenarios running through my mind so late,
arrived to find car park deserted just empty
It’s usually half full of cars, at least about twenty,
ran across the foot bridge as fast as I could
boss will have my guts for garters, my blood,
reached machine for clocking in, total shock
thought I was seeing things looking at the clock,
unbelievable twas only quarter past one A M
never used that darn clock again, I did condemn,
will never forget that Monday for as long as I live
certainly a day I never want to ever relive.
8/2/2018
Monday’s poetry contest.
Dull, dank depressing Summer Solstice. A pretty chesnut pony ridden by a little girl on
the pavement (sidewalk to our cousins across the Pond) wishing to be a wild rider, but
not along the High Street in this once BLUE Radical part of town if only both were not
escorted on foot by two women, the mother and the child's sister?
Astounded! I said to a bloke pasing by, "That's legal?!" half like a full capon judge, half
like a Radical. The bloke broke into a wry smile, shrugging his shoulders replied, "Don't
intervene". With a pretty white maned pony, two determined women and the little
hoped to be wild rider wearing a blue helmut, I knew that I was on to a loser, as we
say; later in the day when a teenager on a bike blocked the pavement - er sidewalk-
when I and two women, one in a wheelchair and another pushing it could not get by
the cyclis;t, I, 'The Big I Am', as my father in his dotage called me, with no stentorian
tone, but authoritative and polite, he moved! An intervention that worked.
Flabbergasted! When the pretty pony with the white mane and until then co-operative
demeanour move left blocking the side ah, you know what I mean, the mother led
the pony, the so assurred rider in the blue helmet with her elder daughter - all -
onto the road, the pony reared! The mother puzzled said, "She's frightened!"
seemingly not expecting any traffic. The appearance of a pony on a pavement, you
know by now what, getting as busy as bees in midsummer, as narrow as a path across
a field in midsummer, until a semblance of order returned with pedestrians, motorists
and the long suffering pony suffered itself to be led across the road to the safety of the
car park - ur- ing lot of the Baptist chapel where behind lay a graveyard of
Anabaptists, so seriously radical!
Little did I realise when I swung
Into the car park at Calder Glen
That by the end of that week in August 2009
My days of teaching would be over.
It all began so well
Meeting an old colleague right at the start
Archie ,a jovial bon vivant
From an earlier placement.
No fault could I find with the well disciplined pupils
Hanging attentively upon every word
Or giving the impression of doing so.
No, the fault lay within me.
My outer self sounded the same
Inwardly the elan had flattened
And I felt my energy draining away
With every lesson and every class.
Was this imposter syndrome?
Or maybe it was the way footballers
Experienced that their time in the game
Was finally over, spent and burnt out.
By the time Friday of that week came
I just knew that I had taught my last lesson.
Just before I went to the office
To let them know I would not
Be returning, I was buttonholed
By an assistant head
Who regaled me with the kind words
Archie had said about me
And requested my return.
It was not easy to tell him
That I no longer felt up
To the demands of the job
And that I felt like a race horse
Which had just run its last race
And was longing to be sent
Out to pasture
In its own sweet way.
Eagle soars, circles in the updraught
keen eyes spot rabbit
it swoops, dives
run rabbit run
at the last possible moment
it turns uphill
eagle has to turn away
for fear of wing damage
talons missed the target
rabbit gets away
I am with you
Young child sneaks out of tent
at dawn, runs down to the water
crock lays in waiting
in a foot of water
near the edge as fauna
looks for a morning drink
young child about to step into
the water gets spooked
by a magpie, runs back to the tent
crock goes hungry
I am with you
Stalker watches young woman in car park
pack shopping every Wednesday night at 10
he's already killed before
as he's about to abduct her
a police car pulls into the carpark
to apprehend a suspected shoplifter
She goes home
I am with you
always
Old lady walks slowly
Feeble knees jerk;
Fear of falling
~~~~~~~~~
New restaurant
Delay in opening;
Manpower crunch
~~~~~~~~~
Basketball court
Evening persuasions;
Sporty sweat
~~~~~~~~~
Car park warden
Issues a ticket;
Overdue toll
~~~~~~~~~
Old man sits idle
On cold stone bench;
Eyes curiously scan
~~~~~~~~~
Little toddler greets
Adults in a lift;
Hello and Bye-bye
~~~~~~~~~
Cake-making effort
Choco ganache spree;
Delicious moments
~~~~~~~~~
Food court moment
Hungry eyes seek;
Meal time sustenance
~~~~~~~~~
Message from Down Under
Happy Father's Day;
Lovely feelings
~~~~~~~~~
Old salad buffet shoppe
Renovation works;
Menu plan change
~~~~~~~~~
Words and works
Not much speed;
Silence speaks
~~~~~~~~~
Feet massage
Muscles ache less;
Healing touch
~~~~~~~~~
Lonely streetlamps
Way pass midnight;
Sleepy avenues
~~~~~~~~~
Vibrato voice
Sings of sad times;
Pop hit perhaps
~~~~~~~~~
Fond touching kiss
Abrupt reprieve;
Sorrow diluted
~~~~~~~~~
Temple bells sound
Festive devotion;
Ancestors watch
~~~~~~~~~
Brisk walking spree
Heart and lungs dancing;
Proactive regime
~~~~~~~~~
Bills as usual
Monthly highlights;
Pay per use
~~~~~~~~~
New book out
Popular subject;
One of a kind
~~~~~~~~~
Lovers tryst
Cheek to cheek;
Promising future
~~~~~~~~~
Leon a Enriquez
17 June 2015
Singapore