Best Dashboard Poems
He begs me to come, but he's run out of luck
You won't catch me dead in that beat-up old truck!
It was painted blue...now the color is rust
But you can't be too sure...since it's covered in dust!...
The engine must idle, (about an hour is good)
You can feel the vibration, around the whole neighborhood
A life is at risk, if you go for a ride!
The windshield is broken, and leaks rain inside
It makes a weird noise, rides bumpy and rough
The dashboard is littered and covered with "stuff"
The seat cushion's torn, and it pokes at my rear
The dog sits beside us and licks at my ear
There's no place below us, for resting my feet
There's a hole in the floor, O my God, there's the street!!!
The windows don't close, so there's more than a breeze
Wrappers from Twinkies, a Burger King box...
One lonely old sneaker, and smelly old socks
Half a stale donut smashed down on the floor
Darn!! The dog beat me to it, and is looking for more!!
The muffler is loose, you can see the sparks fly
Dirty looks from the folks, who get smoke in their eyes
When we drive by the neighbors, I duck my head and I hide
I'm no Prima Donna....but I've still got some pride!!
He loves that old truck, he calls her a gem!
Make him choose between us??? ....I'd be out on a limb!!
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For Verlena Walker's Slamming Battle Contest
Drumming along on steering wheel
And dashboard, to rhythm and beats
8-track drowning out giddy squeals,
Till butts plopped down in venue seats.
The buzzing crowd was everywhere
All walks of life surely present,
Deluge of Tie-Dye and long Hair,
Smoke wafting thick, the oddest scent.
When all light vanished, cheers ensued
As silhouettes shuffled on stage,
Anticipation…all eyes glued,
Mind numbing sound, coming of age!
They’d rocked our years, and now this night
Fans singing each memorized word,
Dancing, laughter—our teenage rite
Of passage, forever conferred.
Ten thousand flames, begged one more song
Two mega hits offered instead;
Then bows before worshiping throng,
Ended the show, farewells widespread.
driving away
from a long pristine shoreline
where waves roll upon sand
corralled by crumbling cliffs
driving toward
a haven for sunbathers
listening to ice cream vendor’s jingles
on boardwalk backed beaches
In the rear view mirror
darkness touches the ground
out where thousands of freedoms
shine in a sapphire sky
through the windscreen
an orange glow reaches to the heavens
a million incandescent possibilities
illuminating the avenues of advance
and you in the driver’s seat
lit by dashboard lights
your hands commanding the wheel
persistently pursuing promising prospects
Riding a scotch high
down
a twisting
river road past
midnight,
his grip tightens
on the steering wheel
in sync
with the pressure of his foot
on the accelerator.
He convinces himself
he is chasing
meaning
in a meaningless time,
waiting perhaps
around the next curve
or the next
in the tree with his name on it.
Silence shatters
in the mirror
above the dashboard:
the familiar face glares at him,
screams
the ugly sound of rage.
He trembles,
sees himself in the agony
of his limits.
He listens to what he sees;
he hears madness.
He breaks the glass,
disappears in the cry.
In the headlights,
purple eyes
devour the mist.
Gods of another age,
another plane,
guide him,
automatic cruise,
into the empty night
beyond
the threat of the winding river.
© Gene Williamson, 2009
I have always tinkled
From a very young age
On the ivory dashboard
From the dots on the page
The musical freedom
Of the song never sung
The releasing of passions
On which I too readily clung
There's a beauty in music
Like a God given joy
From operatic piano
To the cheap plastic toy
It matters not anytime
Any place you can find
If you call out to music
It responds in a rhyme
Your heart will be full
From the start to the end
With a strange, mystic healing
Any fracture, can mend
CV
soft roses, held in bloodless fingers,
bleed a scented redness
caressed by lusts ache
masquerading as a gentle touch
each petal a charade
a “loves me – loves me not”
catharsis of collusion
covering its tracks
heart shaped
convenience store memories
withering dreams
melting on the dashboard
the groundhog smiles
its shadowless reflection
reveling in winters
unpredictability
John G. Lawless
©2/4/2019
Certain clocks obeyed
By springing forward on their own –
The ones on the computer
Or the TV or the phone.
But my old-fashioned watch
Required a turning of the stem
And clocks around the house
Needed assistance changing them.
Our Subaru was trickiest
Though after several tries
The dashboard showed the time
On which our traveling relies.
We’re all caught up now for a while
Until the next date when
It’s time to fall behind and then
We’ll do it all again.
Miscommunication, is fabrication of reality
When actually it’s a matter of perspective.
She was a standout, with a name similar to yours
With pure intentions, painful convictions but losing to her own dispositions.
Deprivation of her moral mentality structure crumbles
Caused by misadventures of her past life
Blighted with horrific memories
Tragic upsets that shake the very foundation of her soul.
Lead by the goals of our society
To keep the mindset that anxiety… controls you
But who understands?
Those who demand you to over expand your capability of toleration to your demons?
Pharmaceutical apprehension to be your companion in this never-ending struggle?
School systems have programs
That program you to say
Everything’s okay
Just get over it and move on
But you see there is no off switch to pain
No preset to reset her experiences
The hand that she felt
A seatbelt that would strap her into a horrible roller-coaster ride of misery
You see, there is something wrong with this picture
Its missing something
Someone…
You?
Maybe everything that she needed was a frosty before third period on a March afternoon
Or maybe, an almond milk macchiato on finals week at Delos across the street
Or even an acquainted silence of tears while she spilled her heart on the dashboard of your car.
She needed a home
No not a bed to sleep in with complimentary breakfast
No!
A resting place
That’s laced with people who care to hear the response of how her day is,
Or how’s she’s doing in school
Or why is there scars on her…
Arms to be held in when she needs comfort.
Sometimes we’re the only savior that people see,
But what saviors are we when we’re preoccupied with our own self-indulgence of social media.
Temporary satisfactions from addictions ever going,
Distracting us from having true meaning in life.
We need to make a stand,
To withstand this generational curse.
Of carelessness of peoples pain,
But first, let me update my status.
Begin by swinging from chandeliers when home
Wear matching multicolored harlequin costumes
Equip yourselves with harmonicas and bazookas
Keep lubricants and trampolines near by for safety
Practice lunar landings in your room to
Resume your activities in the great outdoors
Do sex outside in a car when retired
Bring a partner and spare tire as required
Avoid police if so inclined
Drive eighty miles an hour at all times
Watch out for sharp curves if they object
Narrow mountain roads are watching
Keep one eye on the road while inserting
Headlights and moon glow set the mood
Never use puppets when in an auto
Open highways are always open to suggestion
Mating should only occur in mid air
Eat oysters raw when in flight
Climb to greater heights
Use Airplanes for best results
Jump from wing to wing
Wear a parachute and a pirates patch
Use only one to avoid catastrophes
Take lessons from cartoons
To find out who you are
Leave farm and zoo animals out of the equation
Milking a cow is taboo too… Don't do it!
Wear rubber gloves if you must
Position yourselves to be lazy
In opposite directions for safety
Never have sex face to face
Back to back is better jumping on the bed
Apparatuses are optional
To be avoided by amateurs
Watch out for babies! (They snore)
Never run over them
It's against the law
And down right crazy
Pregnancy can be fun too
Instructions are on the dashboard
But first you must buy or rent a car
Before you floor it
Just had to buy a new battery
For my seven year old beat up jalopy
Actually I'm exaggerating just a little
As cars go it's a very fine copy
A four door sedan with all the extras
And a dashboard readout to die for
Numbers as big as all get out
Couldn't really ask for much more
But sure can't fool police officers
Saying you didn't notice your speed
"If you've trouble reading those big numbers
Blindness is what you should plead"
Aside from that, the time has come
Maybe a Porsche or even a Rolls Royce
More likely a stylish Mini Cooper
Will most likely be my first choice
Nice dream, silly boy, now back to reality
You're not a teenager any more
Better grow up, stop living in the past
Grim Reaper's knocking at the door!
© Jack Ellison 2014
A funny thing happened
On the way to the dance
An hot ash from my cigar
Fallen onto my pants
Driving in my car
A fast fifty five
I lost control of the wheel
Thank god, I'm alive!
From all of my commotion
My cigar flew from my hand
So I pulled off of the road
To see where it land
I looked under my seat
And by my side door
On top of the dashboard
And of course, on the floor
It was nowhere to be found,
I don't know where it flew
Until I felt something burning
Inside of my shoe...Ouch!
I jumped like a rabbit
And shouted "what the hell"
Than I laughed to myself
When I saw where it fell
Burnt a hole in my sock
Burnt a hole in my pants
I Never got out of my car
But boy, I did dance
When that funny thing happened
While driving in my car
I just laughed and I just giggled
And I relit, my cigar
A Funny Thing Happened On My Way POETRY CONTEST
Sponsored by Robert Haigh
6/25/2018
I'm singular.
I'm night-driving.
With vibrant hum
of standard speed.
I'm glowing of dashboard.
Utterances of am talk
alien abductees and remote viewing.
Barely diverts my musing.
I night-drive
periodically.
A rite of wanting
Control, of the wheel.
Arm out window
night air cooling me.
Headlight on blacktop.
A yellow metronome.
This nights topic , I'm.
A question proposed,
by a small man in robes.
I started the list:
I'm a modern Tom Sawyer
an ebb-and-flow.
I'm this psycho-manic jester.
Dharma junkie, with subjects.
I'm Charlie Brown on acid
but who love the dog.
I'm a skin head hippie.
A guy with no wrist watch.
I'm a independent film critic
speaks religiously of Fight Club.
I'm these and other clever observation.
I stopped at a neon diner for tools of thought:
Coffee, pen, paper, and consumers of isolation.
Filling a page of I'm
looking for a singular
a true answer.
Just finding personas
and learned traits.
It came to me this I'm.
While leaving the tip.
In my wallet a picture of my children
looking full of me.
‘Cream Puff’ you were my faithful companion for many years
I recall you were a birthday gift from an old school friend
And I adored you from the moment I held you in my hands
As a teenager I remember taking you with me to my first job in London
You sat on my bedside table and were a constant reminder of home
In 1989 I moved in with my fiancé and he loved you too
He decided you would be a wonderful ‘guard dog’ for our car
For 27 years you sat proudly on the dashboard of every vehicle we owned
Over time you started to show signs of old age
The sun tanned your skin and your once bright coat faded
About five years ago disaster struck and your ‘brains’ burst out of your head
I tried to perform surgery on you with my needle and thread
But it was useless as you were so old and frail
So we left you sitting quietly in the car enjoying your twilight years
Yesterday tragedy struck as we were travelling a long a pretty country road
I was gazing at the azure sea whilst my hubby was at the wheel
Suddenly the next thing I knew you were sitting on my lap
My hubby had picked you up and thrown you to me to see if I could help you
I could see that there was nothing that could be done to save you
Your aged skin had got so thin it had totally disintegrated
Little wooden beads had burst out of your bottom and legs
There was just a little pile of wooden beads where you once sat
Tenderly I scooped you up and placed you in a plastic bag
We then spent a long time picking up your insides piece by piece
As they were scattered like ashes all over the front seats of the car
Now I know the time has come to finally say adieu
Goodbye Cream Puff
A treasured companion for over 40 years
You will be missed by us all
03~31~17
010101010101010101010101010101010 only numbers left
no walnut dashboard 010101010101010101010 no treble clef
just the breeze where once was sun 01010101010101010010
perpetual war it is no fun:
only numbers now to kiss your cheek 010101010101010 to
grease the starlings hungry beak 01010101010101001
and when the moon hits ice cream sky 0101010101010
numbers talk for sleeping spy 010101010101010010101
stuffed critters line the dashboard
of the V-dub he takes every day
to visit her where she rests
his bent fingers pluck strings
serenade
little princess sightless
except for shadows, sees
the cloudless day and beams
the brightest crooked-smile
gratitude
feisty one drives big truck
one leg to pump the pedals
which one, the gas of course!
while she dreams of evenings
dancing
bike pedals turning, churning
on his daily fitness route
he ventured out, not accepted
came home to lead
belonging
rubber boots, wide-brimmed hat
hands toil earth creating beauty
short strong arms set nets
He reaps ocean's bounty through
serenity
*the unmentionable word of all time – leprosy. The stigma still exists for those who have long been rid of Hansen's Disease. The only unclean thing is the heart of mankind.
Dedicated to all those who have honored and touched my heart on Molokaí.