Best Gas Pedal Poems
The morning seemed quiet when I got up from my bed,
The air was still, as I shook the cobwebs from my head.
I walked slowly into the bathroom to wash my face,
Work must be done and I must prepare for my daily race.
Brushing my teeth and running water through my hair,
I know this day might be good and the weather is so fair.
Streams of sunlight peer through open shades,
I walk to the kitchen, barely awake in a daze.
Open the cabinet for the coffee just inside,
I notice it's empty and then I almost cried.
I gather up my clothes, in a such a terrible rush,
The coffee helps me focus, gives my brain a good flush.
I jump out the door with the speed of lightning,
Into my truck, without coffee my day is frightening.
A few brief minutes passes by as I blaze into town,
My trucks roars down the street with my gas pedal down.
I see Starbucks ahead and my mouth is watering,
Can't wait to taste my coffee for this morning.
Roll down my window with such hast to order my prize,
I ask for a large hazelnut coffee with joy in my eyes.
I make it to work a few minutes early today,
Knowing that I made it, but only halfway.
I don't know any happy
super rich people -- a
friend of wealth once
told me: "See all this,
a huge property and
home, dripping gold
gilt, "I have nothing...."
I thought, myself spared
leaving, as I gave my vehicle
the usual primer finessing of
the gas pedal, before it would
prayerfully start --
Of course, having spent much
of my life with those suffering, I
have dried many an impoverished
tear, and know no joyful hungered
belly --
I often conclude, the best of my
blessings found somewhere between
two hells -- bellow the peak of
Supreme Religious Zealots, just above
The Valley of Heretics -- best years
recalled, are middle-age....
God's grace and love independent
of experience or knowledge --
Having abundance is opportunity
to better the lives of less fortunate
others....
I had just left the Fairgrounds Race Track with my dad, where I won $13.00 on a nag whose name I forget and Dad won nothing, which mattered not since his goal was to 'celebrate' the night with his Candy Apple Red....newly bored out 1957 Chevrolet Corvette by timing it, while crossing Lake Pontchartrain's Causeway.
If you're not familiar, it's New Orleans longest bridge over water at 23.83 miles so off we went. At 11:00 PM the only thing in sight was a couple of lone Sea Gulls. Dad held up his stop watch, hit the gas pedal and zoom, we were gone. I remember when the Vette hit the hump where the bridge opens for boats to pass, it literally left the payment and took flight. Amazingly, when the four wheels returned to the cement, they were not felt and continued on smoothly to the end of the bridge, where we finally got off.....AMEN!
Daddy was in awe as he pulled over on a side street raising the stop watch to the street lamp in order to claim his glory. "Baby," he yelled, "Look at this" as he stuck that watch in my face. The watch reflected a 227 mile per hour trip in eleven minutes flat!
'Aw Baby you saw it! You lived it! Who cares if no one believes us! We did it!"
Dad owned New Orleans Ford Service Company but he was always a Chevy man at heart. He'd pull the 283-cid V-8 engine and to him it was the most revered engine in the entire world. The small block was what he was most proud to convey to any on lookers whether interested or not. He'd rave, "it's been bored out to 1/8 inch to 3.875 in stroke remained a short 3.00 in."
That was a long FAST memory ago. One I shall never forget! Did we really go that fast? Yes, according to his stop watch.....
I turned the key,
pressed the gas pedal.
The motor belched
the starter grated.
“No. Not today!
I can’t be late.
I’m teaching the class.
I have to be there!”
Our three-year-old
piped up from the back seat,
“Try it again, Mom.”
The motor coughed, caught,
settled to a steady purr.
My little two-cylinder Fiat,
slow, but steady as she goes,
took me everywhere.
Again, from the back seat,
“I knew it would start, Mom.
I prayed.”
Coming
Glass and metal spread across the freeway.
Something like a melon, open, and dragged,
seeds and flesh intermixed on the freeway.
A families dreams, destroyed, on hold, shredded
and ended. What of the slow procession,
passerbys, looky-looks, rubber neckers,
just for a moment does their discussion
cease, their hearts sink at the sight. The wreckers
truck stays their studied interest, do they peek,
Does stomach drop, head spin at the sight or
do they avoid the look they do not seek
to know? It could not apply to them for
they certainly would not be so careless,
and yes,life for them is just marvelous.
And Going
Once passed the horrid carnage of the crash,
as the view receded in the mirror,
the memory too, late meeting, loose lash,
exigencies of the day, perhaps, stir
up the old habits and the gas pedal
goes back down and the race begins anew.
The gore is replaced by heavy metal
on the radio, turned down for a few
minutes but now, thankfully, all things are
normal. And at end of the day when you
are asked by a spouse or a friend, "How far
were you from that crash on 680?" Do
you stop a second, having forgot all.
A family died, maybe hard to recall.
On this journey we call life; there will be bumps in the road.
Throughout this journey, doctors preach get tested.
Your birthday is coming up, congrats on turning 40 years old,
Everything in your life you have bested.
“Hello doc, nice to see you again, how is it going?”
“Hey there sir, I am good what brings you here?”
“Well I just turned 40 and want to make sure nothing is growing.”
“Not a problem, let’s get some blood and make sure your clear.”
You give the blood and go about your day,
You’re a healthy man, no need to worry.
Then the phone rings, it’s the doctor and he has something to say,
“Sir, your lab work is back; can you get here in a hurry?”
So you hang up the phone and you rush over quick,
All kinds of scenarios are going through your head.
Nervous, scared and anxious are all emotions that hit you like a brick,
You push that gas pedal like your foot is made of lead.
The doctor sits you down and thanks you for showing up so fast,
“Just tell me doc what did you find.”
“Well your blood work says your prostate is under attack,”
“But don’t freak out yet, just keep an open mind.”
So more testing is done, biopsies are taken,
The dreaded C word has now taken over you mind.
You have the support of friend and family and that can’t be shaken,
Just keep your head up and you will be fine.
Lying in an ocean of her own blood
drowning in her own blood. Her lungs
burning from the bullet wounds she
never thought this is how her life would
end.
Her tears start to flow as she thought of
the years she spent slithering with
snakes. Her job at the BNB bank made it
easy to launder money for the
Black Crime Syndicate. It was six years
ago on June the sixth that her life went to
hell. Upset at the thought
of being late for work Kenya floored the
gas pedal. Weaving in and out of traffic
hoping she didn't get a ticket.
Arriving at the BNB bank right on time
Kenya rushed inside and greeted
everyone with a warm friendly smile. A
short while later the most
attractive man she had ever seen entered
the bank. Lost in his good looks Kenya
had to find the words "May I help you?"
He introduced himself. "Yes my name is
Malik Maxwell Williams. I would like to
open an account". "Mr. Williams please
follow me to my office".
Malik was in Kenya's office for twenty
minutes before making his departure.
Kenya made it up in her mind that she
would get to know Malik on a personal
level.
Kenya lived a rather dull life unto the point
she decided to get involved with Malik.
written by Keith Edward Baucum aka Red
Seven aka The Brown Philosopher aka
The Green Poet
The highway of life is full of speed bumps and unseen peril
Heed the rules of the road; ease off the gas pedal when traveling
On a serpentine route, or risk careening off a high cliff
Date written and posted: 11/25/2018
As I sit here and think about it
so many scarred memories, crashing
waves are thoughts of fate
that have been scorched with denial
blinded by a pit of despair, lonlier everyday
hiding within myself, hard to face the truth
the wheels screech down the road,
a narrow path driving insanity circles
as I push the gas pedal, I choke on the shambles
realizing where I f***ed myself in life
but I cant change the past, etched in glass
shattered vows, drowning in a sewer
my innocence lost, the keys locked inside
a tortured mind sold every last integrity
dollar after dollar blown away by a gust
of advice that disappeared before accepting
I put my life on the line, russian roulette
foolish character flaw, strength beyond others
imagination lit a way out through trials
tribulations bleed the same miserable mistakes
walking through hell graceful on the tip
of an iceberg running barefoot, expectations
slip my mind as I fall into temptation
wanting to be a hero, beat the devil who
twisted my soul into a knot, roasting
spit of reflecting truth bears a self-identity
acceptance of what I didn’t want to believe
who I was, now close to rock bottom, suffering
humanity turned away from fighting against
losing battles watching people swallow shame
blame catches fire through accelerated lies
close to a chasm allowing death to come
tortured dreams left deep scars, regret
I must willingly sacrifice the hypnotized
desire for the trance that I didn't need help
begging, scraping my knees on an unclean
temple floor I created, still willing for hope
chasing opportunities to survive a slowly
bleeding heart pumping life, thoroughly giving
existence awakening a new sense of purpose
time to face my own demons aware
I will feast no longer on blind survival, slipping
through reality anew remains charred; yet, I learned
the struggle is real when you cannot commit.
Gus whose real name ain’t Gus
gets in and creaks the door shut.
Ripped vinyl, jabbing metal
cups considerable weight.
Gus whose real name ain’t Gus
slides the key into the ignition slit
on the dashboard not the column
of this galaxy five hundred.
Gus turns the key clockwise
the starter makes a hearty attempt
turning the engine over and over.
Points are contacted, little sparks erupt.
Gus releases the key which clicks back.
Sun beats down on the faded green hood.
A sigh, another try.
Shove the gas pedal through the floorboard.
The inline 6 roars to life.
Gus whose name isn’t Gus
is on his way.
Stopped for a rest on my drive back home
Got out to stretch my legs
When I got back in I noticed a change
It surprised this hard boiled egg
The gas pedal was closer than it was before
A fact it made me holler
“What's going on? I'm really quite spooked!”
“I must be one foot taller!”
Now I know it's just an old expression
You don't literally stretch your legs
But for someone learning the english language
These nuances are hard to peg
“Cause if the stretching were really true
I'd soon be over eight feet tall
I'd have to build a room with high ceilings
So I don't bump my head and fall!
© Jack Ellison 2013
Stopped for a rest on my drive back home
Got out to stretch my legs
When I got back in I noticed a change
It surprised this hard boiled egg
The gas pedal was closer than it was before
A fact it made me holler
“What's going on? I'm really quite spooked!”
“I must be one foot taller!”
Now I know it's just an old expression
You don't literally stretch your legs
But for someone learning the english language
These nuances are hard to peg
“Cause if the stretching were really true
I'd soon be over eight feet tall
I'd have to build a room with extra high ceilings
So I don't bump my head and fall!
© Jack Ellison 2015
Often meandering,
With forks full of potholes;
The highway of life.
It's not the yellow brick road...
With Dorothy
Prancing along.
Caution must be exercised;
Gentle on the gas pedal...
At all times on our travels.
We eventually reach
Our destination
We aren't in a nascar race;
Patience is
Of paramount importance!
Life's serpentine freeway
Couldn't be more treacherous
We either obey
The speed limit
Or risk recklessly
Careening off.
"M" Contest - New Poem Only - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Theme chosen: Meandering
Date written: 09/17/2021
Lying in an ocean of her own blood
drowning in her own blood.
Her lungs burning from the bullet wounds
she never thought this is how her
life would end. Her tears start to flow as
she thought of the years she spent
slithering with
snakes. Her job at the BNB bank made it
easy to launder money for the Black
Crime Syndicate.
It was six years ago on June the sixth that
her life went to hell. Upset at the thought
of being late
for work Kenya floored the gas pedal.
Weaving in and out of traffic hoping she
didn't get a ticket.
Arriving at the BNB bank right on time.
Kenya rushed inside and greeted everyone
with a warm friendly smile.
A short while later the most attractive man
she had ever seen entered the bank. Lost
in his good looks Kenya had to find the
words "May I help you?" He introduced
himself. "Yes my name is Malik Maxwell
Williams. I would like to open an
account". "Mr. Williams please follow me
to my office". Malik was in Kenya's office
for twenty minutes before making his
departure. Kenya made it up in her mind
that she would get to know Malik on a
personal level.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum aka Red
Seven aka The Green Poet aka The Brown
Philosopher
Foot on gas pedal, tailing
ghosts in darkest hour of night,
I find a road to the past,
we once called home. I knock,
but your love is a sealed door
with broken knob. Even if
I could pry it off its hinges,
enter the hollow space inside,
silence would be my prize,
conspicuous like a tarnished trophy
thick with cobwebs on the mantle.
Since you’ve left, I hibernate
through my days, a bear
that has perished before spring.
I try to forget your countless smiles.
Distinct colors in blushing cheeks
of a smitten morning sun fade
away as she rises over blue waves
in your eyes. Most of all, I try
to forget the unique sound of your sigh,
your contagious laughter, and the way
your voice would bounce off me
like an excited child when
you said, I love you.
written 3/30/17 for Doors Contest