Best Exhaust Fumes Poems
My
eyes are
sorely touched
with the harsh flash
of puce and pink-red
exhaust fumes leak lazy
from the line of matchbox cars
clogging humanities sewers
lungs gasp at green tires lay rubber
like the wail of infants taken from tit
dangling arms wave the air seeking entrance
to the already well come fill’d shunt
sighing rubbing my lids lights strobe
just past the seared surfaces
of my bruised retinas
my feet throb swollen
now depressing
releasing
pedal
push.
One may be "Touched" in physically, mentally or spiritually.
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Passages trail the utter existence
along brick faced wanderings
with puddles reflecting death
in the vast wasteland that calls
from bled out dreams
I listen to the footsteps,
eager to please, left by the curb
beneath graffiti warnings
in spray painted quotes
dripping with ease and intent
Their cadence sends
splashing ripples onto
nicely pressed slacks,
collecting glares from bus stop loafers
with exact change and nowhere to go
As I find my existence
fading in the far back seat,
staring out of a smeared rear window,
exhaust fumes wave good bye
to the nothing I have become
My memory is like an ill-tempered old car
that refuses to start
on cold, miserable mornings...
or sometimes stutters
and shudders to life
in fits and starts with rattling parts
Names and faces of those behind me
shrouded and clouded in thick exhaust fumes
'til memory resumes and smoke starts to clear
...oh, what was the year?
Then suddenly (without warning)
the engine revs high, and I start to fly
downhill fast, into the past
brakes not responding, gripping the wheel
too much to feel
that terrible fear- stuck in high gear...
Old trauma impacts like a car crash
re-living events that
don't always make sense
deadly debris and jumbled bits of trash
litter my head, feeling half-dead
confused, in a mild state of shock
Although a car is a useful thing-
sometimes it's safer to walk!
Lost in Youth
Rainbows in the clouds, walking on railroad tracks , locomotives up close
Kickball games , I am left footed, spooky reflections in a mirror, running naked
Wooden desks and chairs, kids in the classroom , the little girl across the street
Black and white T.V., Air conditioning , a new blue car, exhaust fumes
The farm, coal fired furnace , warm heating ducts
a collie , a cocker spaniel and a horse named Thunder
Dark starry nights , telescopes , comets and satellites
Northern winters, snow covered fields ,sledding, frozen lakes , and Orion
Camping in fields , mosquitoes bites , quiet dawns and heavy morning dew,
Grandparents ,riding lawn mowers , apple trees , flower and vegetable gardens
Southern Summers , warm muggy nights , ceiling fans ,open screened windows
Screened in porches, ancient toys, , tiny transistor radios, baseball games talking late into the night
Badminton , side lawns , and long rides home
Public pools , icy waters and underwater swims
Trombone , marching band and high school football games
Sleepy classes, friends , lunchroom games, and girls
High school graduation , college and final goodbyes
Mama ate her collard greens with raw onions, pinching a
morsel of greens with sweet cornbread, as juicy pork
neckbones lay naked of meat.
The sweetness of life, like sweet Kool Aid fills our tummies,
while dishes await scrapes of scraps for the family pet; Tuffy.
A simpler time, when gas was priceless at $.75 a gallon-
and exhaust fumes were free.
Corner, Jewish owned stores amass nickels for pounds of salt
pork, fat-back and tabs for grits, Wonder Bread and sardines,
pennies for cookies, salted peanuts float atop RC Cola bottles,
while the neighbor; Miss Sally spits “bacca,” in a old tin can.
We sprint as Wilma Rudolph to tab a gallon of milk, after biting
a red pepper disguised as an ornament hanging from Daddy’s bush,
while I scratch melanin legs infested with sand-sores, from making
mud pies.
Strolls cross the railroad tracks on Saturdays offer rare window peeks,
as the Christmas parade showcases the only ***** High School
steppin high, erect and purposed, as integration passes the house.
Time creeps unaware of bigotry, racism, poverty and out-voted segregation.
Time welcomed newborns of newly born future stars shining dimly while
dressed in blackness to affirm cultural change.
Exhaust fumes and flower blooms
Acrid smells, gentler scents
& pungent decay
Hot molten gold flows out of a clear
blue sky
Cars rumble down streets made into
alleys through the trees that tower
over them like Eiffel
Or Freedom
With the rain age old mud mixes
into the seams of recently laid
concrete
My city is a cyborg
With kudzu wrapped telephone wires
weaving away from its heart like
veins through body
Carrying life-lines to its extremities
Steel office buildings rise from the
ground alongside the trees that we
plant on the sides of downtown streets
Because we don't want to forget
what the land was like before we
came
And our quarries carved down mountains
and our progress intruded on mother nature
We don't want to forget what things were like
Before the South started to
become "new" and king Cotton lost
his right to rule to the steel mills, quarries and commercialization and
became a peasant
Before industrialization changed the landscape
And Birmingham earned the nickname "The Magic City"
Civil Rights demonstrators marched
some of the same streets we walk
And the 16th Street Baptist Church
has an exhibit that reminds us that
sometimes progress comes with a high
price
right across from the Civil Rights Institute
Part of Martin's dream came true in some places
Black and white children play
together now
But you can still see the Confederate
Flag hanging from a pole at the side
of the interstate as you go down
towards Florida
The Klan still holds rallies
and buzzards can still be seen eating
road kill in the middle of the suburbs
This is still the south
What some call the country
....and minders of the past are
never that far away.....
Form:
city - day
bustle, exhaust, fumes
moving on...
Unquotable quotes – XII
To catch a monkey, you need a young coconut with three holes for eyes ; bore a hole in one and wait : the monkey will thrust its hand in to grab a mouthful and will not let go come what may.
To catch a false monk, you need an orphan.
To catch a thief, you need either a camera or a cobra.
To catch a bluffer, you need to make him believe ya.
To catch a fly, you need a spider with a parlour.
To catch a poisonous snake, you need a retracting loup on a long ten-foot pole.
To catch a giant, you need a sling with a stone.
To catch a Pharoah, you need his sister with a hisser.
To catch a priest, you need the advice of his Chief Geist.
To catch a stool-pigeon, you need another stool-pigeon.
To catch a plane, you need a valid ticket.
To take a train, you need a ticket-puncher.
To board a ship, you need to rise with the tide.
To catch the woman next-door, you need to wait until the paramour goes out the back-door.
To catch a ripe durian, you need to have a hard or an empty head.
To capture a girl in a burqa, all you need is another burqa.
To capture a rat in a hole, all you need is a secret service mole.
To capture a pirate ship in a canal, all you need to do is to lower the water-level.
To catch a polar bear and her cubs, all you need to do is to raise the level of your exhaust fumes.
To catch a lark on a bark, all you need to do is to click your camera.
To catch the sun in the morn, all you need to do is to sleep with your window open.
To catch cold, all you need to do is to stand stark naked bold.
To catch forty winks, you need to be full of drinks.
To get on peoples’ nerves, you need to step on their toes.
To catch the pox, you need to meet a certain lady who lounges around the docks.
To come to grief, all you need to do is to rob Fort Knox.
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2016
WHO IS YOUR NEIGHBOR
Forty feet high and circumference of six feet, my neighbor is a massive Saguaro cactus
It can be a source of sorrow or safety to wild creatures running in blackness
Probably hundred years old and stands all day in the hot sun unable to run
Sometimes a neighborhood gang of lowlifes will drive by and use it for target fun
It has two arms and stands close enough to its partner that they are hugging
My neighbor is surrounded by many cousins who are jealous of its majestic flowers budding
It starts out as little seedling protected by a nurse tree and now by governments
My neighbor is so popular around here that his cousins are used for yard ornaments
Unfortunately this neighbor is sick from all the exhaust fumes coming from the passing cars
I am happy to claim this green giant as my closest, quietest neighbor so far
SassyLady
09/12/15
Limerick : Once a Briton in the Tour de France
Once a Briton in the Tour de France
Smoked cigars drank Champagne made bike dance
From Versailles to Paris
Yet won the Tour easy
How ? By breathing exhaust fumes’ fragrance !
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
cars pass by
the hospital
by the crematory
and emit exhaust fumes
and the chimneys
by the crematory
they emit smoke
emit the dead
from Dante's Inferno
and we breathe them
we breathe death
and sneeze a lot
And the colored girls sing (A tribute to Lou Reed)
“Sugar Plum Fairy came and hit the streets”
Dragging the soul of a contender
who painted crooked lines and dotted futures
Spinning lies on the edges of gossamer wings,
then lickin her lips, black as night patterned velvet
while tracing underground sidewalks in glittered graffiti
and menu’d offerings
“Lookin' for soul food and a place to eat”
Digging in the pockets of her intended victims,
tossing lint to the curb in puddles of drool
Singing in a voice louder than her grumbling stomach
now exposed to the harsh winter of tomorrow
as foot soldier scarves in drab green
wrap her twisting ankles from the cold
“Went to the Apollo”
Standing in a long line for a ticket
to this sold out show, basking in the marquee lights
Collecting auditions from drifters
and finding her melody in a passing taxi,
yellow as her checkered present,
ignoring her cries to be ridden
“You should have seen him go, go, go”
Exhaust fumes mixed with knock off Channel #5
and scraping stiletto heels sparking on the emotions
of an ill fitting t-shirt with Lou Reed’s face stretched
to the limits of her darkly carved wild side,
she falls in line, fourth from the right
as metronome earrings sway in rhythm
“and the colored girls sing…”
The quoted lines are from the Lou Reed song, “Walk on the Wild Side”
Ford Anglia
Ford Anglia, Ford Anglia,
You were always my favourite Car.
Distinctive shape and two-toned colour,
In the showroom, you were the Star.
Cortina, my Cortina,
Your sleek lines made a statement.
People would often turn their heads,
In wonder and amazement.
Zodiac, mighty Zodiac,
A real Man’s motor was this big boy.
Leather seats and chrome hub caps,
The Daddy with his pride and joy.
Escort, oh classic Escort,
You certainly broke the mould.
A family car that thrilled a generation,
So popular, millions were sold.
The old Fords had some character,
Unlike Fiesta, Mondeo or Focus.
Though the exhaust fumes weren’t too green,
Carbon Monoxide used to choke us.
Pathological spit-steroid addict,
blame-shifting weightlifting fanatic
Decathlon cracked lip truth ...
Jumping over another
high cloudy crystal
methane alibi
aloof sprint hurdle
Twisted twin-lip discus throw
on a poppy milk turbo fan blow
Veracity record unverified:
Marathon factual finishes
don’t have a Mary Jane
Photoshop shred of proof
Possessing a prosthetic tongue
allows them half-truth pole vaulters
to perform
those verbal gymnastic,
lying athletic feats of strength,
so hash mark daringly
Yielding honesty sweat labor sparingly
Such a Festivus mucous odor:
pandemic ground-zero celebration fête
Noxious nitro nostril gas,
on a downhill imposter incline oxy splat
Lie ability
don’t hinder a moral victory thief,
it’s a boon to the burglar, actually
Carousel tales ... up-and-down lung sales
giving hazy, rowboat circular details
Ever racing for the Pinocchio prize,
wouldn’t knowz
losers,
with smelly rumor toes ...
Fan the foul exhaust fumes —
when their tale pipe empty,
bad-breath bellow sneakers
reach the end of the road
RECIPE: “Poulet Roti” French Style – Le Chant Royal (Instalment 3)
(Note: Rhyme scheme of “Le Chant Royal” where capital “E“stands for refrain, thus – Stanza: ababccddedE, Envoi: ddedE)
STANZA II
Cut the hot-water supply, make chicken freeze
Tear up the electric connections, the telephone
Ensure chicken swallows upstairs dust, e’en sneeze
Fix the plumbing, flood coop with merde from heaven
Funnel exhaust fumes into coop car cabin
After fixing the engine – closed doors – unseen
And when chicken leaves coop to forage for food
Invade the coop, sabotage shower for good
So as to keep chicken skin in constant stink
See that chicken pays for all damage in blood
Give the Alien Crowd free rope’s nodding wink!
ENVOI
Use the migrant lêches culs, the all-willing brood
Rejects from anarchic lands up to no good
Kitchen-help strut as Mason Chefs in a blink
Make their Masters’ ev’ry wish come true for good
Give the Alien Crowd free rope’s nodding wink!
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2017