Best High Octane Poems
Homemade dungeons spirit up through governmental finance. An alone home to the flight risk, trial sick, authoritative kind. So much time now spent hitting the rewind to come upon the never wanted find inside the attested mind. A proven confinement to so many of 21st century are designed to be low level offended and less related to all of mankind. Circumstantial evidence is assigned to take down this kind.
Rights never amended, as the felonious records are drug offended. Inside the gang life is blended. Friendships are far from being mended. Instead many lives are ended. A never before scene of the wrongfully accused and had been at the criminology since the age of thirteen. There is no remedy for this no vaccine. Most are pumped up and made into a machine who love the daily clink routine.
Orange jumpsuits scatter the yard. Once a slip arrives they’ll pull your card. Heated from the mentality built throughout the year. Constantly lying awake at night not knowing what to fear. Is death near? Corrupt guards take aim with fear in the name but then the high paid lawyer shifts it to a high octane gear. This will definitely give the prosecutor something to fear. The facts are straightened now it’s time to finally steer.
The man in the mirror once publicly crucified humiliated inside, and tried never dabbled in that attack. Yet he still caught all of the flack. Hundreds of nights spent on the uncomfortable nightmarish rack. But here then comes the judge as the least fortunate try to resolve with the new found fact. Leaving here is all he wanted with his freedom and dignity intact. The stands were pact, the jury deliberates, not guilty, evidence not filthy, the gavel tolls, can this be all so real? This is the sound of the governmental deal trying to lay hate to determine one’s fate then to be sealed.
It felt so good, like we were movie stars
You were with me, my friends, in my suped-up car
Through the village street at such high-octane speed
Tyres screech, car screams, girls see.
Bump the kerb, skid through the bend
We are men in a car, driving like this mission won't end
Police give chase, blue lights flashing behind
This is where the night changes from fun to wild
Now forcing harder and sharper at corners and bends
One mistake now and it all ends.........
People gather near the pub
Streetlights shine over the blood
Car is dead, crashed into a wall
Friends are dead, seat belts and all!
Policeman is the last one I see
Pain, blood, metal sticking out of me
He winces when he sees the bloody mess
Looks into my eyes with a sad grimace
I hear the siren of the ambulance come
I turn my head to see the paramedics run
I turn back to see the policeman in the cold dark rain
With tears in his eyes he asks me my name
I smile and before I can speak it to him
The sounds all around and my sight go really dim
Then blackness as I hear my father cry and my mother scream
My brothers are so sad, my kitten yowls on my bed in the night,
he can't sleep.
A photo of me when I was in the scouts
A young smiling face with such promise and dreams
Over a coffin with me in.
My father still cries, my mother still screams.
When they draped the flag on your coffin mate
I was dumb, dead with it-
they ought to at least give you one last chance
to dance the dance of life-
you were the grass growing and the earth
firm beneath our feet,
you were the cotton on our backs the day
we sweated for glory on the pitch man!
The ball sailed right through every eye in the stadium
shot like a bolt straight into your hands,
feet that float and fly away, man what a sight!
You were there the day we found the champagne
in Searge's knapsack, we were soused,
so soused we just made it to parade with the west wind in our eyes
pulling the tears onto our faces, the day we went away-
the day we went to the desert
the day they took us in the Humvee
the day the Humvee bucked high like a grasshopper
leapin’ straight up
straight up-
the day we looked and you were a man with two arms and
we cried to see the legs gone, the legs you sent
like two pistons of dynamite
across the pitch like a piece of high-octane rocket-maniac
after that beaut of a ball,
the day we swore we'd come and drink your health,
stack the cans out back the way we used to
and shoot the breeze, bring it all on, let it all out-
we cried, Paul and Johnny- you remember?
Don't know if we cried
the day Crazy Connie died-
So it all comes down
to a flag here on the coffin and the guns
that they shoot to salute when you leave-
Donnie you were gentle and you shook our world.
We claim to love
but foolish pride swallows apologies
wrecks reconciliation and forgoes forgiveness
rendering sweetness bitter
it is an emotional hoarder
an insatiable sin
incessantly collecting resentment
commoditizing the priceless
bankrupting unity and burning optimism to ashes
it is an assassin’s bullet shattering the windows to the soul
it is a death kiss
pernicious and ubiquitous
convinced of its infallibility and yet
the ego is a manifold deception
a blindfold masquerading an x-ray
high octane recklessness eviscerating progress
it is arrogance mimicking affirmation
lending mystery to the vacuous
self-centered gibberish
rippling into infinity
and stripping love of its gist
it is delusions of grandeur
parading naked through town square
and fooling the fool alone
If I could just have more time!
There is never enough hours in the day!
Going here and going there.
No time for a breath of fresh air!
If I could reinvent the clock I would do things differently.
I would add an extra hour of time.
I would scramble like a high octane woman.
Just to enjoy this 25th hour of mine!
I would use this hour to soak up more sunshine.
To stand amidst the shade trees.
To listen to the awesome sounds of nature.
To roll around in a pile of autumn leaves!
I would selfishly savor this extra hour.
Not sharing it with anyone else.
But just to take some time with my Creator.
And unravel from the stress of this life.
The 25th hour would be all mine.
I could do with it whatever I please.
The rest of the world would have to place their clocks on hold.
Just so they could catch up with me!
gwendolen rix
8-23-15
Used to be this high octane poet
Running outta gas, my poems sure show it
Need a fillup
Injection up my butt
Of phrases like “grease monkey in the pit”
You look wrecked, are you feeling OK,
Was all of that more than you thought?
Was all of that harder than it was meant to be,
Leaving you all distraught,
Here, sit down, drink this water,
Let us turn the lights right down low,
And we’ll be quiet around you for now,
And we’ll do what we do really slow,
We get that this is your first time in here,
Standing in front of us all,
In front of our high octane of a ride,
Even though we all look so small,
But we love that you’re here giving your best,
Trying to teach us the truth,
You’re our brand new teacher, first day on the job,
And we’re your anarchical youth.
Race up and down life's highway
No stopping to pay any toll
Just livin' it up in the fast lane
Spiraling out of control
Don't hit the breaks keep moving
Take it as far as you can go
Might need a boost of high octane
Won't stop 'til your engine is blown
Get it in gear to get off soon
Don't think you can find your way home
Your lost and you're running on empty
And you're riding life's highway alone
Slowing down 'cause there's too many detours
After a while it just starts to get old
hope you get off the right exit
Before you get stuck on the side of the road
~Billy Hitz~
There's another virus going around.
Flustered by everything COVID-19;
I am grateful I still have a job,
but grumpy I have to drive there in the rain -
I need to get to the fast lane or I'll be late...
What's this?
A driver slowing down to let me in their lane
with a smile and a friendly wave.
A news report of teenagers with cellos and violins
playing a quartet on the porch of their
"self-isolating" elderly neighbor.
A good Samaritan
giving away toilet paper
to whomever has need.
The new guy in our coffee co-op
making a pot of decaf while
grinding beans for the high-octane pot AND
cleaning out the sink.
A friend sending out an email
asking How is everybody?
Knowing we're all hanging on by a thread
Please infect me with this kindnessvirus
I want to pass it around
I am neither
good nor bad
I flirt with the devil
and dance with angels
high octane is my adrenaline...
labels just don't stick to me.
I am neither
selective nor indiscriminate
I am a willing accomplice
with mischievous imps
and frolic with the likes of cherubim...
play boxes have no boundaries, no sides
I am neither
moderate nor extreme
not even mediocrity is my stance
I swing high, I swing low
between the edges
and stretched out wide
I am neither
polarity nor yin and yang
Never on a slider scale
Bird mentality is my desire
Any contradictions ....
Label me when I'm dead,
If you wish!
This is a donation for the wicked to hold up a milestone of the dethroned. The tin soldier has fully appeared with a raw full state that many will never get to relate. This is the geared up treat for his disillusion fate. Hunting for the misplaced hate that he had to create. Sorrow filled tomorrows live for today. Filled with misplaced grievance from the war torn scorn. The shore has reached its limits as the brave are now born.
Animosity treats the dead like a routed out sickness in the head. Restored adoration coped as the animosity was shed. Guns blaze as the sharks graze. The land has its beauty marks as well as its evil like maze. Valor is helped from many fields of green. The wicked eye has been through a terror and has clashed through the unseen.
The dead is now a given and the mighty are hype and driven. Limitless acts are overheard as the admired tyrant holds the precious confound. Each protect his own and show there tested skills which meet with high octane thrills that are now renowned. Order is restored as the tour has gained ground. The brigade will now longer be bossed around. The cost was high and the sorrows chime in, but the mighty mighty brigade has done it again.
Taking the world by storm
And having a passion for success
Always possessing high octane energy
Building a foundation of excellence
A step in the right direction
With a positive attitude
Brings about an affable environment
With lots of gratitude
The Merchant seafarers` war
When world war two started Norway was
neutral but unsure which side to stay on.
The English thought occupying Norway
but they were too late the German army had
done the occupation.
The British sent a ragtag military force to Norway
trying to cut the country in half to stop further
advances but were told to pull out.
Norway had at this point a big merchant fleet
It was sequestrated and used bring good and weapon
for the allies.
This left thousands of seamen nowhere
to go those go tried to flee was arrested and sent
back as crew members of any merchant ship.
They the crew lived under a constant pressure
(one out of ten) never made it home can you imagine
how they year after year lived in constant fear
a tank ship full high octane for planes with the enemy
U-boats lurking about. When the war ended and
they could go home they were treated with indifference
like shirkers who had avoided the war.
These seafarers where heroes of the highest order
but the government ignored them, they let down the pride
of Norway, one can say without them the war might
have lasted much longer
Stuck on a hybrid labyrinth race track in undue course
Crash helmet cracked under the raw tempo of stagnation
Chequered flags waving but a motor running against the clock
In reverse and the traffic prohibits pit stops for tyres and fuel
Exhausted depleted high on adrenaline withdrawal
A silent movie plays on tiring spools of grey matter
More like a collection of photographs in faded sepia
An accident waiting to happen ready for another pile up
The gear box strains in overdrive and the pistons complain
Brake fluid seeps into the cockpit and floods the clutch
Hazards are blinking like a stroboscope and prism of pace
High octane acceleration on a road to immanent nowhere
Satellite navigation in conflict with his auto pilot
Cruise control on a highway to hell and beyond
Ejector seat wedged into a half open sun roof
Theodore calls 911 and the Thought Police arrive
Arsonists join the scene in fire engines stalled on the emergency lane
The ambulance doctor injects truth serum with dizzying speed
Body bags remain unopened but sanity is scraped off the road
Repackaged sealed in bubble wrap in case the airbag won’t open
In hospital he wakes off his trolley on a tiny stretcher
So convoluted they can’t find a straightjacket that fits
Confined to another bedlam on the psychiatry ward
And the dashboard flickers on the way to his lost mind
17th December 2019
Have you noticed what has been happening these days?
Those oil companies are perpetuating their ways.
The prices at the pumps continue to rise.
They go up each time I blink my eyes.
No matter what you buy, low or high octane,
the prices are enough to render us insane.
With this situation, for whom are we to thank?
It costs a small fortune to fill up my tank.
What has been causing all the unjust hype?
The smoke from burning money goes out the exhaust pipe.
Not all of the factors seem quite clear.
Any type of intense argument can precipitate here.
I cannot take anymore. We must all take a stand.
More affordable gas prices are what we demand.