Best Hydraulics Poems
I like to sit and watch them boys
Tinker with their toys
Hood up, hands grimy
Sweat pouring down handsome faces
Oil spots in weird places
I like to sit and watch them work with a master’s poise
Those car loving boys
I love to watch them
gently
O p e n
a portion of their hearts
Brave Chiseled faces soften
Polishing seldom seen chrome smiles and illuminating smarts
And every so often
If bad enough, rusty rim spots
I enjoy
Witnessing the Magic of mechanics
Gazing at the devotion streaming
From ignitions, and the spark
Plugs closing the world off
It’s just him and his baby
He knows what’s wrong by the sound of her voice
When she chokes or when her axle will give out
Lover’s intuition
Propping open her chest and knowing
Where her nerves are, and how to touch her just right
A mechanic knight on a mission
A twist here, a yank there
A closer inspection
A poke, a dusting,
A little loving
Some gentle scrubbing
The excitement when she finally purrs
Like a Tiger
Sleek and shiny
Curvaceous and Dangerous
When at her best
So for the Rice Boys with a Mitsubishi Eclipse
The restored Mustangs or project whips
The Homeboys Lowridin’
Hydraulics jumpin’ , bass pumpin’, mind grindin’
Cadillac Macks with wood grain and leather
Or those Bad Boys with Harley’s that can go in any kind of weather
sugar sweet cowboys with pick-up trucks
Rich boys with Jaguars that like to get crunk
Papi Chulos with SUV’s
Shot gun is where I want to be
Mm, Baby, imagine it
Ain't you badder than bad?
With the stereo blasting our favorite song
Darkest Tint, sunglasses on
Your two favorite Ladies by your side
Slick
I promise
I will never get jealous or act suspicious
I’m fine being the mistress as long as
he has the patience
understands my high maintenance
And , for sure
that he knows how to
Make MY engine
Roar
I've never understood how things work
gears turn and cranks crank
circuits connecting and forming a link
all of this stuff is out of my reach
its all so confusing, fuses and plugs
that plug into sockets
and HUDS that have numbers and belts that have notches
motors that whirr and shake so profusely
only do more to stump and confuse me
I'm not at all mechanically inclined
trust me I know, I've tried many times
I can't understand battery's without power
have to charge for almost a whole half an hour
drivetrain won't drive, forward or reverse
transmission whats that, this sticks stuck in first
the bumpers don't bump and the flashers won't flash
speedometer and fuel don't work on the dash
there are spots under the hood for the fluids it takes
and I don't understand how a carburetor.. carburates?
mufflers to muffle the sounds that it makes
drive shaft to control the turns that you take
key to ignition
ignition to starter
starter to the whatever the hell that you call er'
it's all so disturbing, it bothers me bunches
gas pedals, brake pedals, what are these clutches
automatic and manual drives drive me crazy
has anyone checked the oil here lately
the tires have tread to catch on the ground
hydraulics to make you go up and go down
there are switches and knobs
that serve no functions or jobs
there's gearboxes, spark plugs, fuel tanks and handbrakes
and I couldn't even tell you which one keeps the car in place
how it all works is way beyond me
I have a hard enough time just finding my keys
Classic custom old school car clubs
Sixty-six Ford LTD was “Dave’s Dream”
Personal plaques flash firme
Bajito rolling ranfla street scene
Carnal cruises slow style
Hoppin hydraulics make bombs bounce
To timeless oldies music mesh
Savvied since nineteen fifty-five
Cars converted for their cruising comfort
It’s inches Lowrider’s lowered from the dirt
Pavements, personalized cultural classic rides
Masterpiece Mexican American automobile’s
Chevy’s chèvere and Malibu’s mint
Official older car creators
Alliterisen
Carnal—by blood
Firme—firm
Bajito—low
Ranfla—A lowrider (car)
wishing he had sung his prayers last night
from both ends to the middle
fell to the ground in adoration
tore a wake through the ink stains
but not from satisfaction
plastic Jesus hold my head
a round of applause for once
or even just a soft murmur
from those in your employ
parked way out in Kokomo
my interrogator professor Zworykin
said quietly we want information
I knew I was up **** creek
without an assault rifle
with various blunt objects
aimed at what was left of my head
initiations with disfigurement
so have a melodic answer he encouraged
yah well the Third Reich fell from bad music
I spat like a backwards vampire
the swelling is an obstacle
I added for evidence I mean emphasis
the King of the Scarabs was neither mollified
nor inclined to use less aftershave
a great rectum of a situation
which is a poem in itself
I got in a few imaginary hits
before he called in the hockey franchise
with their many novel effects and manifestations
such as hugely distended penises
not at all like the computer club
fart gigglers and Balaam anointed
who sang as they worked
that's how we laugh the day away
in the merry merry Land of Oz
always a help to morale in the trenches
to use a dirty semaphore
for the male power hug
cracking walnuts with hydraulics
the Scarab King was a backhanded guy
strung out on endless platitudes
this is a spit shine day men
do your regimentation proud
they wavered then cheered then wavered
when the going got tough
and it seemed to often
for your present narrator
they allocate security personnel
in my case a comic endorphin gigolo
the hand of a spell upon his brow
good lord not another eccentric botanist
bedecked with the fabled Trinkets of Mouthgate
traffic fines double in poet zone
former servant of the hypno-avatar
with his blemish free goats
and his tunnel vision paparazzi
hI I'm Joe Product family friend
half con half circus half fury
screaming on the rack
my one line in the play
whatever will I do now
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
EPISODE II
CYBER METAMORPHOSIS
Alpha-582 Loves ZL-236
I extend my hand to her
My hydraulics closing delicately
Both aware of our cold steel
And the heat of our humanity
In the softness of her eyes
I see the reflection of my face
Like the longing to connect
Through the vast coldness of space
I give her my sacred code
To bypass my encryption
My beating heart begins to race
As metal fades from my perception
We escape into a garden
Too green to hint of sin
And we find a hidden reality
As our virtual starts to spin
And we marvel at the ache
Of our vulnerability
We have a sudden revelation
Of our current atrophy
The vision of our ancestors
We have forged to perfection
We would rather be a machine
Than judged an imperfection
But as we spin together
Her eyes give me permission
To access her domain
And to start a new religion
I conduct past her circuits
To the soft tissue of her
Then something new in my abdomen
As darkness begins to purge
Mental explosions of light
Followed by the coldest sensations
Aware again of moving parts
Now also of unhealthy expectations
It hits me like a ton
That I feel every cruelty
And that's when I became aware
That I am not a machine
END OF EPISODE II
We two are designed to these ebbs and troughs,
Gyro dynamic tempos to clench the soul,
And gnawingly let go,
Let flow
Far far away into sunsets,
And let grow further away into context,
Vegetate a garden of Compiegne lustful deceit,
And profanely reap the dreams that seem too far to reach,
Expedite in space time continuums of monads and adversities,
Validate the limits of Heisenberg’s uncertainty,
Certainly only to find you with me,
In hypothetical pasts that existed in these realities,
In dreams and pageantry indeed and fallacy,
Magically i.e. quantum mechanically,
Up up and beyond the pragmatic obtuse notation,
Lets escape on a star by motions of Schrödinger equations,
To serotonin states of patience,
With excepted placement and by our astral tribes,
Who could pedagogically prove the metaphor of how two worlds collide,
Rotary rotary Concaved, convex photonic light distributer!
Does this automaton hold my heart within her future?
The fate absoluter the limited suitor,
I'd experience this attraction if I was robotic.
Cardio hydraulics id drowned for you in a heartbeat,
If you depart this 3-dimensional carcass and were not mine
Move slower than the speed of darkness and remain lost in the past a thousand times!
I'd substantiate the replicas of emotional bliss,
Though we know that Love isn’t real, I know that this is,
And if the dead souled quantized ruled from above,
I'd forever encode my hard drive with the algorithms of us.
9/27/21
Oh bollocks
An impact on health and the wallet
As an alcoholic
Do I know when to call it
No I don't know when to stop s***
I don't care about your trucks or cars with hydraulics
Am I too caught up in trying to frolic
Got to work towards being brolic
In order to be inside and out solid
Grew up in conditions that were squalid
From day one till now still people are being diabolic
It's become pathetic, if I'm honest
Like my life and addictions, so very melancholic
In a world that can be angelic yet also demonic
I've kept to myself, not wanting to be toxic
Staying rogue
Got problems of my own,
Need to try harder and use logic
For my own benefit as well as any on land, in the air, or the aquatic
Can't get anything done with hands in the pocket
I've got to take off quick
Like a rocket
For you, I left a box of chocolate
That I was able to shoplift
Just kidding, I bought it
But I don't want it
Or any fake love, that's just not it
I can't be on it
The real thing is what I intend to accomplish
Got to work hard and not quit
Can't just give up and drop it
I've understood that and never forgot it
As the sun peaks up into the sky
the blue pickup truck goes down the dusty road
to the field that barren laid
and the red tractor waiting there
father and son in blue jeans clad
walked from the truck across the land
to the job are waiting for them there
to begin a new as such in every year
so big the wheels with cleats deep
red painted steel and rubber so black
the scent of grease and of used oil
and dust that tickled and teased the nose
black painted seat with flecks of rust
up so high to be rode
so many petals and levers there
hard black rubber wheel oh so wide
father climbs up and takes his seat
reaches down and lifts up his son
setting him down upon his knee
reaches down and turns the key
a lever is moved a throttle to set
the choke pulled out to just right there
a round pedal then depressed
and with a grind the engine starts
moving levers the plow is raised
with hiss of hydraulics and squeaks of steel
depress the clutch and shift into gear
increase the throttle and ease off the clutch
and with a lurch the tractor moves
heading out into the field
the father steers the boy watches
as they move to where to begin
stopping there lowering the plow
the father says he’ll do the first
then coming back he’ll let his son
plow furrows in the field
back and forth in the rising sun
the scent of soil freshly turned
birds that land where they had been
seeking the worms now exposed
and at noon they take a break
for tuna sandwiches and paper wrapped
a big thermos of still cold milk
and for apples fresh and red
working on in light of sun
through the day both long and hot
till the sun touches again the land
at end of day before work is done
leaving the tractor in the field
walking back into their truck
the first of many days are now done
as they get in and drive away
another day for father and son
as they work in light of sun
sharing together the joy of the land
and the working of it which is their life’s
Closed sliding doors opens up to a box
Cables, conduits and wires, hydraulics
Elevator
4/02/18
written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2018©
I wait for the heat
of the Allis Chalmers crawler’s engine
to fill the tarped in space
where I sit huddled
next to levers, gauges and knobs.
The crawler seems to float.
The tule fog obscures the ground
covers everything,
all that has grown
and all that was lost.
Even the old, worn stone headstones
behind the main farmhand’s house.
But I am not thinking of that.
I need to rip the southeast field.
I put it in gear and pull the clutch
and then the throttle and black smoke
belches briefly.
I step on the track brakes
gently left, then right
to get to the headland
and then yank the left track clutch to spin
into place.
The crawler moves ahead
and I push the hydraulics
to drop the pointed shanks into the ground.
I stand now, warm
and look behind
at the boiling brown soil,
shiny, curls releasing and spilling up.
I feel the exact right tug
of the crawler’s weight
as it lumbers and strains.
I work on making
perfect, straight lines of turned up soil
across the field.
Mid-morning,
the tule fog has vanished.
I had not noticed it go.
It will return tomorrow
the farmer has told me,
blanketing everything again,
thickly,
covering all
while I pass over,
turning and raising.
Some one must invent a smart machine right now
To serve peoplekind immediately with a feeder
A device that serves up sunflower seeds with hydraulics
Through a small tube attachment that fits in the mouth
Pumps seeds slowly and efficiently with no spillage
Made of gold and rubber for comfort on the lips
Each tiny kernel must be counted out efficiently
Long trips in luxury requires efficiency when eating
Machines must be marketed for the privileged
Priced for the wealthy far out of reach
Ordinary people can eat with dirty fingers
Seeds are too sophisticated to figure out
The kind of personalities that need everything just right
Just right now they require sunflower feeders power
The Jet set crowd and higher to be precise need this device
Only savages eat seeds with fingers
Sun Flower kernel feeders are a luxury
A must, a necessity of life
Invent them right away, right now
Buy more than one to feel alive
One for the helicopter, home and yacht
They must come in hydraulic yellow
Priced higher than the sky above the clouds
Leave the poor to feed themselves
Don't tell the birds what you have done
They have the sun but not the money
Let them forage for something else
My factory ...
each morning
the engines puff ...
the wheels spin, gears engaging
the pistons pump, hydraulics pulsing like blood
the robotic arms bend and twist and buzz to their business
pulling, picking, placing, assembling ...
oiled and attended to their duty
a most important duty, I might add ...
not just from my rather biased perspective
but I think most would agree that our importance is empirical
we put task to a rather vital course
to a product of, should I say ... dire importance?
our means allow for only the finest attentions and results
the highest quality imaginable
stationary elements of precision
moving parts of the most meticulous interaction and synchronization
an extraordinarily dependable product
and a device that is, and MUST be, ultimately ... unbreakable
we make the finest of the finest, after all
and we put the "heart" in heartbeat
our factory thrums with the thrumming of humanity
pumps for the pumping of boundless blood
and swells with the pride of unbreakable perfection
A heart, above all, has to LAST
and as our banners brightly proclaim ...
'Hart's Hearts Last To The Last'
This poem did NOT place in the "Willy Wonka Is Not Here So What Is My Factory Going To Make" Poetry Contest.