Best Fiberglass Poems
WALLPAPER
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Paper Thin
Cut down to any size,
Crumble, crop me wrong
Pull the insulation from my heart.
Never will I be "A Paper Doll!"
Thank you for calling me a "Friend!"
Thank you for wasting my "time!"
Enjoy the WALLPAPER display
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Layers and layers of lifeless brick
KEEPS EVERYTHING OUT!
Emotional poster boards of doubt
Envious fiberglass green never seen
Yuletide Carols warped around my energy
Merry and full of acrylic sh!t-
Hand full of putty maintains the makeup on my face
Arts and crafts display my inner fancy grace
Heavy installed Sheetrock so easily replaced
Tough paint chips away silently through the night
Rigid boards transform into fragile crystal light
The greatest illusion blinding reality
Smooth Tiger Skin, texture of orange simple peel
Beautiful mud swirl, L'Oreal.
Gypsum soft enough you want to touch
Dark walls of a thousand words
A plasterboard of discordant grey notes
Blots and clots of ink, enslave my skin
Colorless drywall, resilient to your charms
Printed designs of cleverly decorated lipstick
Morbid shadows underneath the ceiling veil
A double coat of Pacific Waterproof Blue-
Printing bags from -- YESTERDAY!
Plastered wounds of cement dry and roughens along the edge
A human-made barrier, not even God comes in.
by;PD
I bent over to touch my toes
and the ground tore open like a backbone.
I tried to feed myself the sky;
to splice my tearducts into the universe
so that, when the pavement cried, it would mean something to me.
My fingernails punctured that slimy membrane
congealed with stars,
and I brought a slice of it to my lips,
hot and slippery like a jellyfish.
Peach juice, chalky-sweet, flowed,
fleshy particles snagged in my teeth,
and the colors erupted within my mouth.
Synthesia took over my lungs.
The hollows between my knuckles flooded with synovia
and all the ectoplasm threatened to separate from my cells
with a sound like thunder.
Diphthong tasted rusty like leukoplakia as it tiptoed across my tongue.
Tomorrow rose like the skeletons of trees,
groping for a feeling similar to catharsis
[catharsis tender as the broken wings of doves,
crunching underfoot like shattered glass.]
The clouds opened their thunderous maws
- teeth snicker-snacking, lamplight-eyes flaming the color of E#'s -
and consumed me.
I felt my skin turn to something other than skin:
thick and rough with scales,
my fingerprints melting into something waxen, smooth and opaque,
like pomegranate kisses on coffee mugs.
A feeling ignited deep in my structure;
cedillas blossoming like lilies from my lips,
fragmented sentences stretching taut as guitar strings
between my thumb and forefingers.
A flutter gentle and demonic as Calcifer erupted from my system
- splattering hot and frothing into my hand -
and fluid rushed in.
I dared to taste oblivion,
and the sky swallowed me.
My lungs failed to be lungs.
They flooded with caustic matter,
and I coughed up reflections sharp as fiberglass;
fighting with organs phthisical and sore.
I struggled to find a way to describe it:
the feeling of consuming something greater than yourself,
of opening your eyes and tasting the sound of rain.
It was like swimming,
but inside out.
I bent over to touch my toes,
and my spine tore open;
the loose laces unraveling, veterbrae poking out
like the tines of forks.
I tried to contort myself into the beginning,
but I only found where I end.
Midst midnight flashes
a poet’s pen shattered
in the hand of him who simply muttered
O, for a sign from above
O, for a sign from above
Creatures howled ‘bove his window sill
the poet clutched a box of pills
that grew a pair of purple gills
O, for a sign from above
O, for a sign from above
Ah, a fiberglass arrow split the air
Jezebel’s or Beezelbub’s he never knew
when his hands and feet began to mew, he cried
O, for a sign from above
O, for a sign from above
The trains of old, were dubbed the “iron horse”;
newer trains were known as, “bullets”, of course.
Flying past with the speed of light;
they cross the world, both day and night.
Once coal and steam propelled these beasts;
today the beasts are fast, but weak.
Of tin and vinyl, these are made;
of fiberglass and plastic panes.
With electricity, they are now, propelled;
nevertheless, they do not run as well.
No personality, have these new trains;
they’re not pretty; just quite plain.
If only man could see the facts;
He’d not hesitate, to bring, the old trains back.
Visit a place where you’ve not been before
And the first thing you face is the sturdy front door.
Of fiberglass, oak, tempered glass, even steel,
The entryway should have a certain appeal.
My country home door, though, was streaky with rust.
The paint was all puckered, the cracks filled with dust.
The glass in the windows no longer got clean;
My husband was tired of changing the screen.
So I finally gave in and we got a new door,
A portal to spiff up the entry décor.
It isn’t embellished, just simple and plain
But it’s neat, a condition I hope to maintain.
When visitors come, they may notice or not
For most likely, the old one was one they forgot
But I’ll welcome them all with the door opened wide
And embrace every one that I usher inside.
I have never thought of death.
Well, that's not true. Everyone
does at a time. A peopled perishing
if you will. We constitute it
with sickles or in a carriage
or call him soft names. Man
versus death; man conquers
this nothing by attaching arms,
ears, heart so it may feel its indifference
resonating like fingernails on fiberglass.
The great human figure, now
cyclical of its mortal fragility.
Were our endeavors false,
these simulacra, these apparitions
beset gaily on their creator?
Like a cement plant, are we
indebted to the dust made
by our hands, and fills our lungs?
All I know is
it's an inconceivable sadness to think
I have never thought of death.
Hello madam, and welcome to our place of business.
Is there any way that I can be of assistance?
We have a huge selection of cars both used and new.
Chances are we have the right one on the lot for you.
We sell and service cars from the best automaker.
One with a long and storied past, it’s Studebaker!
If you don’t readily see what you are looking for,
we have some in the back lot; or we can order more.
You’ve heard all about the financial difficulty
that’s been plaguing this automotive company.
Let me tell you, in this year of nineteen sixty-three,
you will never buy a car of greater quality.
Don’t you just love the smell of brand new upholstery?
With the range of our models, we have variety.
“Gran Turismo Hawk” is top of the line luxury.
We have the low-priced “Lark” if you want economy.
But take a look at the company’s latest entry,
it’s a sporty new coupe that is known as “Avanti”.
This innovative family sports car is so great.
It has a powerful two eighty-nine cubes V-8!
It can generate almost three hundred horsepower
with the optional latest Paxton supercharger.
It can move at one hundred fifty miles an hour!
Its body is made of lightweight rustproof fiberglass.
It’s the sportiest vehicle that has the most class!
Madam, I’ll tell you, this is the one you’ll love, no doubt.
We saw you walk in, and we want to see you drive out!
Our prices are lowest. They won’t be staying that way.
Why wait? We can make you a terrific deal today.
When you drive up to your friends, you know what they will say?
“Wow, what a beautiful car, I’m getting one today!”
Imagine that we are out boating on
A lovely Sunday afternoon that floats
Our imaginations like wind swept clouds,
Rippling from horizon to horizon.
You are pillowed in the bow of our canoe,
A thin foam pad lifts you off wood ribbed bottom.
No smooth fiberglass for us, a bright
Umbrella protects you from the sun,
And a wine-rich picnic basket awaits us
As underwater green leaves dampen our motion
In the shallow but glass-smooth mountain lake,
That bends high breaking waves, ridges of buoyant rock
Like a telescope lens, magnifying, doubling our joy.
Craters marring our surface are more visible too,
So close are we now that your flaws seem
Almost touchable in the fragrant breeze
As breathing its emotionally charged air
We clumsily explore the terraformed landscape,
Together, alone, here, Adam and Eve on Mars.
Brian Johnston
October 1, 2015
The most thrilling experience anyone can get
is speeding along in a convertible Corvette
This powerful four-wheeled machine is much better than good
when it’s got over four hundred horsepower under the hood.
Driving one of these gems is moving in first class
There is plenty of get up and go under that shell of fiberglass.
What a sweet time on a warm summer’s day
when I can zoom down an open highway.
Just my sweet attractive doll is riding beside me.
We move along at the speed limit so carefree.
You haven’t driven until you get inside a Corvette.
Chevrolet’s sporty model is the best one yet.
This baby displays her true colors when the flag’s unfurled.
There is nothing quite like her anywhere in the world.
In the world of automobiles, this is a shining star.
Many call this America's only true sports car.
With a fiberglass body, and a big, powerful V-8,
zooming down any road would certainly be great
Presently, I have one very big personal regret:
With a hefty price tag, I can't afford one yet.
Another day in this shell,
Who i am, is hard to tell.
I might be able to describe in words to you,
You may find you feel these ways too.
Sometimes, i feel like a crab.
Wanting to hide from the world,
Sinking deep into my shell.
Wanting to just crawl away,
and never go back, never look back, never turn back.
Sometimes, i feel like a bird.
Wanting to fly away for the winter.
Explore new places, care-free.
Having no destination as i fly up into the clouds.
Keep going with no direction, no distraction.
Sometimes, i feel like a ant.
So small and invisible.
Wondering if someone will see me,
or just step on me.
Wanting to be heard, but my words are unspoken and unheard.
Sometimes, i feel like an airplane.
Always carrying people with me.
Giving things to others, but nothing for myself.
No complaints, just keep going on and on.
But one day, i will hit that runway hard,
and when i do, it will be me,myself, and I. Just once.
Sometimes, i feel like fiberglass.
I am strong, because i know i have to be.
People depend on me to be strong,
knowing i won't just fall apart.
Being dropped so many times,
but never being broken.
But scars you can't see are there,
from the drops and falls.
But you can only hold on so much,
until you break.
I have just come back home
From the call center office
You called me many a time
It was of course a chime
Yes, talking to you certainly
As they are always of glee
Would indeed have been a respite
In these working hours tight
But the bloody headphone
Under which I’ve to groan
Has taken over both my ears
They must only him hear
What the audio will convey
Whether January or May
And the computer vision syndrome
Tells upon my chromosome
The monitor fills all my vision
I am forced into the fusion
Listening reading and writing
With myself I keep fighting
When you call me on a chat
It has obviously to fall flat
Hour after hour in a row
Damn helpless robotic bow
Over my fiberglass disgusting desk
A pitiable horrid statuesque
Have neither rain nor dew
I know I was rude to you
Excuse me please if you can
Have now just returned
Ten hours of damn taxing job
Terribly troubles my peace
I sit at my pale window
The train departs anxiously
A melancholy engine in a shadow
Drops me off more lonely
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A neighbor lady I hadn’t seen
in a year I heard was bedridden.
Her former husband dropped by,
asked if I'd to take in her trash can
when I brought in my own.
He lived in a city far away.
She’s very sick, he said.
I said sure, not a problem.
But one morning when I
dragged my big metal can out
to the curb, hers wasn’t there.
It was always there before mine.
No idea who put it out so early.
Maybe another neighbor.
So I went in her yard and tried
to drag the can out to the curb.
It was so heavy I couldn’t move it
so I left it there, figuring whoever
had been putting it out would
find a way to do it again.
I didn’t want a hernia.
I never saw her can again.
Word was, the lady died.
There was no wake or service.
Just a small notice of cremation.
Her former husband got
the house even though they
never got along when married.
You could hear bombs
of arguments late at night.
He stopped by to thank me when
he and the realtor put a sign in the yard.
The house sold in a week to a young
couple with a brand new trash can,
fiberglass, not made of heavy metal.
The can was much smaller, though,
wouldn't hold a lot of weight.
Donal Mahoney
Slode's new poem: Bug-man
Tarantula
Phantom motion seeking assembled characters
Catatonic semi-demonic the fervent priorities
Damned by honesty and crowned the duke of chill
Something happy
how fast a picnic can run out of stock
On the sale of the green belt on the sails of a pirate ship
A land who said i ll feed you just keep me as your friend
City slumber city
Easy A for the easy way just to not think at all
To wonder where the boundaries begin
Hope you heard that the bug man is in town
So what of electric static i got a fiberglass limousine
No comfort from the tingling pours over the karma of
where you been
The bug man has only a thing
to be a billionaire
Nothing to admire
Nothing worst that artificial intelligence bouquet
The night is mine when I find Saturday
When it was Love
Life couldn't be Less a conspiracy
Dying at the hands of control
Crying inside forever cause someone has taken your soul
More than the jackal more than the fox
They can see nature and go back only to memories when we were young
We have to fight
We have depravity
We have a mixture of the worst behaving there best
Its like no one sees anymore
They walk around like they can't find the door
It sends your head
for a spin
Its a sense of needing a guide makes it critical to survive
The one red nightmare the charm of the day
Only good thoughts make your credence spark
They promised a terror
Werewolf's sorry I only know one
Blood-thirst and dapper done
My tattered jeans wear always true
The warning and questioned purpose
Lie and free us all those to be unchained
Those to be chained,other to the end of misbelieve
Then those who can not pay
Those who just play
While others just want to be
Free from the distortion of the sloppy cheap-ass bass
The 90 year old
Could no longer bend or even lean
Over
His brother’s grave
Stands in the sun with his planted cane
At his elbow
Tells me
He hears his brother speak from the grass
“Bobby, where have you been all these years?”
Dad turns to me
Says when he was 13
And the Army telegram arrived at the house
And his mother and father tore it open
On the Roosevelt porch
He ran down Sutherland Street to downtown Ironwood
With shock if not even a grin
Wired across his face
Shouting from the Walnut-split sidewalks
“My brother’s been killed! My brother’s been killed!”
Haunted
By his youthful exuberance
For all his old days thereafter
Thought he was responsible
For his mother losing her hair
Nest unraveled by a storm
For his father
Never using a razor again
Instead, each morning
Rubbing expressions clean in the sink
With his palms
For the only thing
Left standing
In this near-abandoned mining town
A fifty foot fiberglass statute
Of Chief Hiawatha
Gazing over the passage of centuries
Never lets go of any soul
No matter the crimes against humanity.