Best Miles Per Hour Poems
Torrential rain, blinding wind howling,
Dark heavy clouds ominously scowling,
Brilliant radiant light of electric flashes,
Following the lightning, defiant crashes,
Loudest blasts make brave men cower,
Thunder so deafening it exudes power,
I was born of a powerful thunderstorm.
Still attached to its base, I will spawn.
Nature’s most violent, I am called TORNADO,
300 miles per hour, my winds will blow.
A rotating column of air touching the ground,
Violently spinning with a horrendous sound.
I will cause fatalities at a devastating rate,
Buildings, and whole towns, I will annihilate,
People panic seeing my deadly approach,
Over fields and farms and cities I encroach.
Lifting up animals, houses and cars in my wake,
My tempest is unending, with fury, victims I take,
Finally cold down drafts signal my final gust.
I slowly cease rotating and turn to dust.
Simple Math
By David J Walker
100 seems to be the magic number
Numbers less than 100 are the lesser…More than 100 are the better
100 on a test …100 meters to run…100 miles per hour…100+ for fastballs…100 $$$
My father lived 26 years
and still smoke cigarettes and drank
A shot of honey bourbon whiskey every afternoon at 3
I knew a man who died suddenly
At 48 years < , one afternoon alone
They said it was the curse of genetics and
There was nothing they could have done
I wonder how 100 holds its magic over us
A simple goal of getting old
And then you’re gone
I once was here, then in the blue ocean,
I once was dry, then thrown into commotion.
I had no clue, for I was in the complete dark,
but I was becoming a GREAT WHITE SHARK!
Just a wee baby was I at five feet in length,
I have a dozen siblings all in great strength.
I’m just a pup who swam away from his mother,
trying to hide from prey with my little brother.
Now I’ve grown fifteen feet long as I’m older,
I’ve become more vicious and completely bolder.
I can swim fifteen miles per hour with my dorsal fin,
I’m top of the food chain as my speed always wins.
I’ve become a predator expected to hunt food,
but during the winter days I’m not in the mood.
I really fear humans who fear me even more,
for it is actually sea lions and small whales that I adore.
I can’t believe the adrenaline rush that I need,
as I rip apart marine animals for my feed.
My agitation today became stronger than ever,
as I went on my greatest and best endeavor.
My torpedo shaped body and my stable tail,
help me escape from a pack of killer whales.
They tried to tip me over and become catatonic,
it makes me fall asleep in a state of hypnotic.
My life has never been better on this journey I embark,
for I have become a predatory GREAT WHITE SHARK!
I chose: Becoming a Great White Shark
April 9, 2017
I was strolling through Evergreen Cemetery the other day,
Glancing at epitaphs etched upon various stones along the way.
Some flowing verse was out of this world but I can only assume,
That the authors were forthcoming in how they met their doom!
"Should an inconsiderate bird upon my stone alight,
Please do me a favor and remove the blight!"
"Here reposes a dude who tried to rob a lady teller,
But she was a keener shot than this unlucky feller!"
"Here sleeps ace pilot Captain Cletus Cole;
His wings were clipped attempting a barrel roll!"
"Here reclines butcher Clyde who cheated on his wife.
Unknown to him she was also adept at wielding a butcher knife!"
"Here lies Hank his mortal shell riddled with lead.
He was nabbed rustlin' steers and the sheriff shot him dead!"
"Here is deposited the corpus of Eddie a top-notch baker.
He is now serving assorted donuts to his beloved Maker!"
"Please relay your regards as by this way you pass,
But for heavens sake, keep off the cottin' pickin' grass!"
"On a banana peel the dear departed slipped and fell.
We pray he landed in paradise and not in hell!"
"He didn't know his Volkswagen had all that power.
He met his doom head-on doing 90 miles per hour!"
"Fer nigh on 40 years old Hank rode this earthly range;
Now he rides in that final roundup on that heavenly grange!"
"Gambler Jim has left very few friends behind to grieve;
He was caught with a couple of aces up his sleeve!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
Kind-hearted, loving and compassionate
Dane Ann would jump through hoops to please a friend
But by a treacherous quest she’s beset
In Everglades’ swamps she wants to descend
She seems to think she can take photographs
Of huge alligators and crocodiles
And though Dane Ann has many well-honed crafts
When I speak of the danger, she just smiles
On shore gators run 50 miles per hour
So two mature ladies won’t pose a threat
Their teeth so sharp, personalities dour
One look at us their appetites would whet
Dear friend, I’ll take you where you want to go
Because I care very much – je t’adore
You want close-up shots; the fear in me grows
As gators draw near, will you shut the car door?
*Je t’adore is French for “I love you.”
Dedicated to Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen who thinks she can outrun the gators :)
Back of my heart I yearn
Even for a glimpse of your shadow returns
It is being long past years since we met last
I am on one side and you’re on the other the world vast.
I was sixteen and you were eighteen I think
Every morning you pass our lane your bicycle bell rings
With my pony tail waggling I run to the gate to see your smile
For me it was worth one’s while
Some days you bravely ring our bell, study notes to my brother
Or call him to play cricket in the field not farther
I knew these crafty tricks played to see my face behind the wall
No matter what, your visits never fail during the holidays fall.
I still remember the day the first pimple sprouted on my face
The day you planted a kiss on my left cheek in such haste
That was real fast no time to see my blush
Paddled back your bicycle in sixty miles per hour rush
You won a scholarship and had to leave to some country far
The very first love note with a rose bud the maid brought so fast
“Please wait for me I promise to marry you sooner I return”
My eyes damped and my cheeks flushed could I wait until he returns.
Time passed on so many hills I marched
I am a mother of two boys and you are a father of three girls I heard.
Our lives go on in two different casts.
You are on one side and I am on the other this world vast .
I still yearn even for a glimpse of your shadow returns
1000 miles per hour scientists have calculated the Earth’s rotation
And 25000 miles in 24 hours according to their quotation
They say it is the distance from the sun qualifies their concession
But it is the facts that they failed to mention
The fact in the matter is, it is not gravity, the sun or the moon
So I thought I will break it down so you can see the big picture soon
And those scientific theories are fallible and can be popped like a balloon
Then you can stop watching the Discovery channel and watch a Disney cartoon
In order to deliver the facts I will change from monorhyme
This will give you the information in digestible nuggets in time
Here we go:
Fact: we know that love makes the world go round
Just enough to stop you flying off the ground
According to my calculations, there are 380000 people making love every second
Wait a minute, just in case I am beckoned
22800000 in a minute, 1368000000 in an hour and 32832000000 in a day.
That’s a lot of people indulging in naughty play
Therefore each person generates 3045808967 gigawatts of negative energy
Calculate it yourself and if I’m wrong I’ll change my name to Cenergy.
The negative energy is what repels us from the sun
This is not generated from the up and down of underwear of everyone
If we quit the Earth will stop spinning
And this may mean we’ll come out winning
For we won’t die or age in years
We’ll never be made redundant due to someone younger taking our careers
You can borrow money and go in debt
And never pay it off if you take it over a year I guarantee the bet.
For if we stop love, time will stand still
And to get it moving again would need the love pill
So from me and Captain Morgan, we say good night
Tomorrow how the earth got it’s crust we will write.
So say good night to this drunken plumber
And by the way, if we stop the sun will suck us in and that’s a bummer
Good night
Never did I dream
No never.
At ALL.
That one can be controlled
By something so small.
You think you have handles
You think you cant fall.
But my life is controlled by a 29 1/2 inch ball.
Hypnotized
By the sound of rubber
On wooden floor. The squeaking
Of shoes that enter through the door
Entranced by flying down the court
Ninety miles per hour, I love the sport
Flash back again to that one day
You made the most amazing play
"I want to relive it", what we all
say. We want to press
start for an "instant
r e p l a y"
Never did I dream
No never
At ALL
Not in my WiLdEsT dreams
Would I be controlled by a something so small.
Can YOU control it?
Can you?
At ALL?
Beware.
Of the 29 1/2 inch ball.
“american psychosis”
on the road,
the dream
begins.....
the sun is burning
a fever in the sky
upon the endless serpent
a serial killers life
diseased upon the road
into the darkness
i fly.....
this is where it
all
comes together
the pure
release
of freedom's
forgetfulness.....
i twist the throttle
speed is time
time is speed
as the sun is setting
i feel the need
in the night
the shadowed coolness
neon eyes reflecting
what the day
never will see,
the american night
where our dreams
born
from valleys
to where earth
touches sky
what is
true......
early morning
in the industry
factory
where even the sun
bleary
black and white
day to day
is beyond me,
i could not be slaved,
i gas
chain smoke
sugar fix
and the road
calls
sirenly.....
every mile
a day
studied
at 80 miles per hour
then just as the past
left behind
on the side....
under a bridge
the assassin of youth
stalks
as we laugh
and curse the sun
for we can knowing
it is not death
to fear
but life.
3 days on the road......
The Borg have nothing on the bees;
they act as a collective mind.
Instead of dominating worlds,
They leave a better place behind.
A bee’s life, rather short and hard
unless it happens you’re the Queen.
Twenty-five hundred eggs a day
leaves little time to primp and preen.
The gals do all the work, of course;
the morning route is fifty flowers.
Two hundred beats produce that buzz.
They travel fifteen miles per hour.
Collectively, when added up,
a hive will travel pretty far:
A spin or two around the world
to make a single honey jar.
They’re really not the violent sort;
a gal who stings thereafter dies.
A different type of stinger’s found
among the drone sex worker guys.
Their honey is the only food
you’d need to keep yourself alive.
So cut back on the chemicals
and make a world where they can thrive.
Blessed is this honey bee;
her labor gives us all our fruit.
No other living thing their prey;
oh, that we’d learn to follow suit!
—————
for the Bee Creative Poetry Contest
sponsored by Matt Caliri
written on 05/28/2022
You are King of the Hill!
A full eight years done with teachers in a private school!
You are not foul-mouthed nor spoiled.
Everyone you meet, thinks the world of you, nobody recoils!
You are not going to an ordinary high school,
Where you have to apologize for being white nor step down
academically, too.
Nor will you study the destruction
of the American flag or be taught new, faux, history.
Nor is your sex a mystery, you know you are, a boy, to which I
I am ever grateful, there is no mystery!
An immense star in Little League you proved to be!
Not only for the a ball you throw at 80 miles per hour, we see.
But your amicability and friendships with many,as welcome as
fresh, Spring flowers be.
You will be no moron, Grandson, in a nutty high school.
But one of the best and brightest!
Why?
You only honor and play by God's rules.
The Bible, being your life's tool!
I miss that little boy I once held in my arms.
That's the blessing of being a Nana, who still feels your warmth..
The most blessed~experiencing her grandsons's Linfinite charms.
With all my respect and love, dearest Edward!
Nana Pangie
~Thank you for coming into my life~
To The North Pole Of Course (Part Two)
The farmlands, bridges and countrysides woosh by in a rush
then vanish before my eyes at a hundred and twenty six miles per hour.
My mind is traveling at the speed of Donner and Blitzen. It goes through a magical hourglass only to nestle inside a cinnamon scented wagon that is infused with the clanking of fine china cups. A peppery scent of hot chocolate perfumes the air and lands on my palate, sweetly.
While I am being ushered forth into Christmas, I sift through time, backpedaling swifter than Santa's mistletoe kiss.
I hear his rippling laughter and melt like butter.
My extra sensory perception picks up the echoes through the halls of my memory
and I say to myself, " I think I'm going home, to the North Pole of course."
HURRICANE HATTIE
It came like a thief
After midnight
Stealthily
Unawares
Mischievously
Spitefully
Desperately
Determined
With preconceived plans
Across the Caribbean Sea
Suddenly turning west
Making a beeline
To British Honduras
In Central America
It foiled expectations
That it would arrive
At seven the next morning
And
Instead
Made a surprise visit
Six hours earlier
And
Like the Gestapo
The KGB
The Secret Police
Attacked
While people were
Least prepared
Snoozing
Snoring
Dreaming
Of better things.
Discriminating
It attacked
Belize
Ignoring neighboring
Guatemala
Honduras
Mexico
As if
Remotely controlled
By some
Vengeful fanatic
At 150 miles per hour
And more
It
Clobbered
Battered
Hammered
Pounded
The coastline
Of
The Jewel
People still ’memba
How in ’61
It wrecked havoc
In Dangriga
Belize City
San Pedro
Cay Caulker
Among others
As it
Thumped
Hit
Broke
Lifted
Pushed
Carried
Dumped
Submerged
Their valuables
And
Like a Repo Man
Dispossess them
Of their
Treasured belongings
Within the
Make-belief safety
Of its eye
Poor people
Thinking it was over
Sought their fortunes
On the beaches
In the shops
In others’ property
When Hattie
On a round trip ticket
Came back hurriedly
And with
More gusto
Lashed out
As a category five
Storm
Typhoon
Hurricane
To teach them a lesson
In
Tort
Honesty
Respect
And dignity.
In the end
One third of the coast
Was devastated
One third
Damaged
And
Another third
Standing
With 264 dead
And millions
Of dollars lost
The place lay wasted
Spoiled
Thorn
Flooded
Damaged
Wounded
Smashed
Muddied
Polluted
As
Debris
Corpses
Belongings
And victims
Wallowed in its wake.
As it distanced itself
From
Its handiwork
And Observed
With a smirk
Its power
To
Subdue
Man
Woman and child
It grinned
In satisfaction
At its exploits
And its supernatural supremacy
To shape destiny
And vanquish the vulnerable
THIS CHEVY CAMARO, IS MORE THAN A DREAM.
IT'S AMERICA'S FAVORITE MUSCLE MACHINE.
IT'S NOT FOR THOSE FAINT OF HART.
IT'S CREATED FOR THOSE WHO APPRECIATE ART.
FROM COAST TO COAST, ACROSS THIS LAND.
THE ZL1 IS IN DEMAND.
YOU CAN SAY, IT LITES PASSION ON FIRE.
A TRUE AMERICANS, DRIVING DESIRE.
CHEVY TECHNOLOGY PROVEN ON TRACKS.
INDY AND NASCAR AND THATS A FACT.
WHEN YOU GET IN AND GRIP THE WHEEL.
YOU'LL KNOW FOR SURE, THE LEGEND IS REAL.
TWENTY INCH WHEELS AND TIRES TO MATCH.
STEP ON THE GAS AND LAY DOWN A PATCH.
PEDDLE TO THE METAL, YOU CAN FEEL THE POWER.
ONE HUNDRED NINETY-FIVE MILES PER HOUR.
ONCE YOU UNDERSTAND THE THE MEANING OF FUN.
YOU'LL WANT TO OWN THE ZL1
A tornado comes and goes so quick
Sometimes revisiting on the same day
Air humid, breathing hard and thick
Best advice given…get out of its way
Sounds like freight train bearing down
Delivers this –Varoommmmmmmmmm
Next best advice--don’t live in a valley
Respite from twisters in Oklahoma town
Not possible— it’s tornado alley
Here’s the scoop
May 5, 1960…The date of the natural crime
Wilburton, Oklahoma…quiet and boring
Me…my life, smooth and in my prime
Outside, trouble brewing, rain pouring
No wind—then dark---storm clouds
Sudden change and all so loud
No way to stop---nature makes it way
Tornadoes F4 hit twice that day
Up one hill, down in the valley, another hill
A path right through main street
Wiped out fifteen blocks with shocking skill
Score tornado 16, town 0…no receipt
Sadly, sixteen dead, hundreds hurt
Think disaster, destruction, devastation
Hail equates baseballs—certain disconcert
Wind 250 miles per hour, an aberration
On a personal note
Mom, sister, and I alone
Little sister told to put football helmet on
I get only, “You better pray. Don't groan."
Three females in bathtub…no put-on
Scared, hoping this was a no drop zone
First cyclone over…it was no spoof
Uh, oh, second one took the roof---
But not us…Prayed and prayed
God was there, though fear stayed
What happens next...nothing good
Can’t drink the water…
Dysentery, typhoid, cholera—it could
Can’t go to school
Smushed-–classes postponed
Can’t go to church
Smashed---future unknown
Can’t find food
Red Cross helps pick up the tone
Friends hurt, one killed
One man up in the swirl…
Carried him about a mile—life unfulfilled
No limbs left—no head to twirl
People scared another will hit
The normal long gone—some split
Build shelters, that's the name of the game
Yet, life did go on... but nothing ever the same