Best Fumes Poems
the daily news droned on and on
as hope gave way to gloom
every ray of sunshine doused
by raindrops spitting fumes
war and murder everywhere
no part of earth untouched
I pulled my hood up over my head
the burden was too much
When I go to buy gas,
My teeth I want to gnash,
And I curse 'neath my breath,
And want to choke the hose!
Save room at the poor house;
I am gonna need it!
Gas is awful high.
Four bucks a gallon!
A loan from the bank.
Might help somewhat to,
Fill my empty tank!
Those crude cartels,
Control each drop.
And what is worse,
They drain my purse!
Help Congress!
Off your duffs!
Ease my plight!
My car
Gasps for
Gas!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 8 in David Williams' "Diminished Hexaverse" Contest - June 2012
Like chameleon hiding growls in chains
She fumes in defiance, such stubborn will;
A raging fire about Vie I can’t explain
Mocking fate when stars bind her daunting spills.
Oh woman, your patience bears heavy weight
Brisk moments clamor for rest longing in vain,
This hunger for answers race, time rings late
Or can fate wander just to stake its claim?
Your ferocious rambling will lay you bare;
With heart’s restless desires, a solar flare.
Yet, this essence turns into warm passion,
As you tenderly flush my fears at night
To hold the moon blue and slay my dragons;
While soft petunias in your arms delight
Cleansing petal tears with flames of love’s depth,
And wings spread on hope’s ride beaming in grace
Vienna- light speeds to fill gasps of withered breaths;
Till smiles peal and comfort this my dreary face.
For your phoenix rises from the ocean’s rolls
Each sky, each blade of grass healing my soul!
‘ ‘’’’’’’’’ ‘ ‘’
Vienna’s Contest: Let Me Have It then Kiss My Petunia
by nette onclaud
As I smoke the living dead, I inhale my mind
and produce dreams as if the devils thoughts
were convulsing in bliss. They become reality and dance
around me as pagan rituals.
sometime in winter
i must choose hibernation
wanna sleep the rest of my life away
i am stuck at this dead end to the point where choice is an inanimate object out of fashion
blue snowflakes fall
i must choose separation
wanna hide the rest of my life in the broken elevator of life
i am trapped in this bottomless pit of icky, sweat soaked sewage
somehow at the county line of spring solstice
i must choose reawakening
wanna refuel my jet engine wings and uselessly sightsee my life till death
i am forever connected to this shiftless symbolism usually avoided by both man and beast alike
Latterly skies blazed
after gold riches were lost
mourned by seas of blooms
exuding heady perfumes
Scarlet sun has gone down slow
Are You Exhausted? Worn Out? Running On Empty Fumes?
Is your life running
on empty fumes?
Are the adversities and stress
of life being consumed?
Any zeal and passion for God
may be in the past…
You wonder; “How long is life
going to last???”
Perhaps you feel like your
anchor’s “been lost at sea…”
And ask; “Lord…
Why is this happening to me?”
Things in life often
catch us “unaware…”
You may ask; “does anyone
out there really care?”
There is someone who
can help you along!
In Jesus’ arms of mercy
is where you belong!
He walked this earth and
calmed the sea of Galilee…
He’ll calm the storms
of life for you and me!
Won’t you give him a chance...
To calm your fears?
And allow his love to
wipe away any tears?
He’ll bring peace to a
hopeless situation…
All you need to do…
Is to give him an invitation…
The choice is yours…
It’s your decision to make!
Won’t you do it now? Before it’s too late???
By Jim Pemberton
Is your life running
on empty fumes?
Are the adversities and stress
of life being consumed?
Any zeal and passion for God
may be in the past…
You wonder; “How long is life
going to last???”
Perhaps you feel like your
anchor’s “been lost at sea…”
And ask; “Lord…
Why is this happening to me?”
Things in life often
catch us “unaware…”
You may ask; “does anyone
out there really care?”
There is someone who
can help you along!
In Jesus’ arms of mercy
is where you belong!
He walked this earth and
calmed the sea of Galilee…
He’ll calm the storms
of life for you and me!
Won’t you give him a chance...
To calm your fears?
And allow his love to
wipe away any tears?
He’ll bring peace to a
hopeless situation…
All you need to do…
Is to give him an invitation…
The choice is yours…
It’s your decision to make!
Won’t you do it now? Before it’s too late???
By Jim Pemberton
01/18/10
Mexico
rhymes with Texaco
What a Gas
E-bikes, E-scooters, E-cars
Darting through the streets
Even E-mountain bikes
To take you to the peaks.
One problem with this E-solution
Is the amount of E-pollution
as we plug them in at night
drawing power, out of sight.
Unlike the runner or the cyclist
powered by plant-based fuels
shortsightedly we lobby for
these battery powered tools.
It seems these “green” solutions
all contain a power curse
for it seems to me their “green-ness”
is fueled by something worse.
They grasp the reins with steely fingers
in a “gentle” show of force
for the basis of their movement is
“keep the blinders on the horse”
John G. Lawless
©4/3/2022
Black flame
Sweet poison fumes
Etched deep with warnings clear—
Yet Dad and Mum still kiss its g h o s t,
A stream of pleasure shaped as cancer sticks.
Death l i n g e r s in the smoky shade,
Disguised as friendly g h o s t s,
W h i s p e r i n g of
S l o w death.
Ah, the fragrant fumes of paint drying on a picket fence
followed by the grease-stained smell of turpentine on the brush
Though doubtless matched by the aroma of oil spills gracing
a service station’s garage floor
These pungent memories of childhood, wiped clean today
by vastly improved technology, yet linger with me
a carcass is moving
out from the white of the eye it is
so all-consuming
dots form in lines on the absentee spine
dry undefined lumps are soft and infusing
the bruises and rind and the opal contusions
they fire with pus and with derelict mucus that
rises in shape as if living and human
adorned in the fumes as mycelium blooms and pours
wings form from mold stocks that spew from the local pores
leeching the fluids the carcass now wizens forth
reaching the sky with a forest of open sores
sink in the bleak rims of deep skin have peaked
they churn sinkage and reak sin that bleeds from the meat
and it turns as it sings and pulls taught and it dreams
knots drink him and blink in with pinkeye beliefs
An empty packet of Gauloises,
black coffee, a croque monsieur.
An aromatic café
breakfast in the Montmartre.
Later I switch to Camels,
a bumpy ride to seek out a friend
in the sixth arrondissement,
that night I left my Dunhill lighter
on her bedstand.
The cigarette lighter
had value,
I had haggled for it in Malacca,
eventually a young Hindu guy
reluctantly parted with it
as if selling his own grandmother.
Malaysia smoked lucky Strikes,
sold as single sticks,
you could buy them at any age,
they kept them in a glass jar
on the counter like candy.
Our generation thought it
too high a risk to die old,
and yet here we are
still lingering by the La Brea tar pits
looking for smoke signs.