Best Motel Poems
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peach pit spat on cracked asphalt~
abandoned payphone hums,
one dime short of salvation.
Sometimes an
Obsolete
Old bulb inside him
Flickers on
And dimly lights
His woozy thoughts
And thirst to write
A song.
Recall he's human,
That's to say, he
Thinks he
Still adheres,
Not just a washed-up
Singer, missing
Schedules to
Appear.
The stained and
Scribbled rhymes
Of scattered nonsense
On the floor,
Three gulps of Vodka,
Bring applause,
Adoring fans,
Encore.
Gene Bourne
06-01-14
.
There's a no tell motel
Just up the road a bit
It cherishes its secrets
Like a horse chomps on its bits
The rooms are small and squallid
With a queen size mattress strewn
Across the age worn carpet
That has stories to exhume
The walls have needed painting
Some twenty years or more
But dingy is as dingy does
The guests don't ask for more
And that wall mounted television
No antenna there for years
But movies still play on demand
They don't star Richard Gere
That old man at the counter
He's leering at some folks
But twenty's buys his silence
For all us respectable folks.
An open umbrella
blankets
two sleeping transients
We are all suspended between heaven and hell
Which way are we headed only time will tell
If I were to guess
Should be scantily dressed
In case you're sweltering at the Devil's Motel
© Jack Ellison 2015
TATEIAN WHEELS OF LIFE
Twenty Dora-band aids barely cover one of my scars across my chest. It's my stomach this time. But one hour of reading James Tate makes my mouth curled upward, with an outward breath and smile. Though as morning ended, I thought, "My mood today is nowhere, I haven't been able to find it yet."
Today, the corridor is filled with little children and blond mothers, plump nurses. I fixate on the water dripping down the side of an empty shampoo bottle resting on the shower chair, enough shampoo to last a lifetime vacation here at Malady Motel. Toddler screams echo down the hallway from another ward where I pretend they are impervious to anxiety, and merely screaming because they know the mind plays tricks on us from time to time; they are screaming to warn me of the warden approaching for early lock down.
One morning of no medication, to follow the tinkle of the lead llama's bell: Can you cope, can you breathe? Tell me how you are, can you cope with the job, can you cope with seeing me while you work? Can you cope, can you breathe? That's all they ask, god bless these doctors with nothing else to talk about. Heaven forbid they read the news, at least the headlines, the front page, something for small talk.
My fingers flash lightning, ice forms in my palms. I need to breathe; I need to. Breathe waves to wash over me. My mouth speaks thunder, and if I could stand, I would spin the wheel, see where it lands again. If they were to leave my legs, I promise I'd return the blood I borrowed, leave it for another. I rock and hum in hopes of a calm hush wash over me, white noise, to cover my ears like the sound of a fetus sleeping through a stethoscope, breathe through a straw, wheeze a song for tomorrow.
***
Februari 19, 2017
We met up once a month at the County Line Motel
For a night of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
Left our mundane lives behind, out by the county line;
Nothing fancy but a lot of privacy.
I know you’ll understand, how much I felt like a man
With this beautiful woman wrapped in my arms.
We made love through the night, leaving before the morning light,
With both our phones set to work as alarms.
But then came that day, near the end of the month of May
When she didn’t show up at the allotted time;
I laid alone in the bed, when the anchorman said,
“Our top story is about a suicide-murder crime.”
I nearly let out a scream, when I saw the pictures on the screen
And realized I’d never hold her again.
She wasn’t just another in a long line of lovers;
She was my soul mate and had become my friend.
And still once a month I go to the County Line Motel
For a peaceful night of sad remembrance.
Remembering the girl who once rocked my world
And was for me a lover’s deliverance.
Motel room, U.S. map made of license plates
everything I need for a week is here, king-
size bed, microwave, fridge, tv, hot plate
the carpet's pretty clean, the bathroom baptized
and there are two mirrors in which to imagine
myself, to analyze and idolize.
WiFi, no Elizabethan inn,
in a century when we fear nuclear war
and are warned against the shock of fast change,
the door sports three locks though nothing dangerous
could happen in a town like this, named for spring
water found by thirsty desert travelers.
My home for a week living alone, contained
safe from the elements, roar of airplanes.
My weight is still plummeting, I'm happy as hell
Wasting away, to my fatness I say farewell
But it's the chance I take
For goodness sake
Young fillies will be bugging me for a night at my motel
With plates and words in anger flying
My wife and I now deem it best
To cease all our screaming and crying
As I check into the Motel Goodrest
I arrive and plop down for a blissful night
But for two hours a car’s engine revs; varoom!
Above me screeching shouts; a lover’s fight
And the loud thumping of the bed in the next room
A frantic eeeouu; a cayote cat snack?
Now the zzz-zzz of a neon sign on the blink
If I had any brains I’d start to pack!
But I sigh aaah; into slumber I sink
Sun shines through the drapes and onto the wall
There’s splish-splashing in the motel pool
It was a calm, restful night after all
Yipee! Now everything’s cool!
I hear a loud clomp-clomp; what now?
There’s a moo so low and mournful
Through the window peers the eyes of a cow
Looking a bit weary and scornful
I pack and flee as if for my life
Passing the cow whose bell clangs and claps
I check out and meekly return to my wife
And spend the weekend taking naps
7/22/22
Written in Onomatopoeia
The Shady Rest Motel
By Elton Camp
Wife and I were on a trip out of state
We were growing tired and it was late
Fairly soon, there wouldn’t be daylight
It was time for us to stop for the night
Motels where we were proved to be few
So we had to decide what we would do
The next place we saw over to the right
But it was revolting. Such a sorry sight.
Its huge neon sign long ago had gone out
But a crude sign showed what it was about
“Rooms for Rent” at the very top it said
The letters were uneven and done in red
The building’s painted walls were flaking
Faded and torn flag from a pole was shaking
We figured that we knew what we should do
When we saw the note, “Thirty dollars for two.”
In the car we had much rather have to sleep
Than to spend the night in a place that cheap
There was no choice except to press ahead
And hope we would find a better place to bed
After about ten more miles down the road
We spotted a spot where we might unload
It was well off the road in a scope of trees
It looked a pleasant place that might please
The little motel had a suitable name as well
Sign declared it to be the “Shady Rest Motel”
The shrubbery and grounds were well enough
It had an ice machine, vending and such stuff
To be extra careful, we took a look all around
And no particular fault was there to be found
We decided that the place was probably okay
So we went into the office with intent to stay
The office was lit up, but no clerk in sight
I called out, “We need a room for tonight.”
“Keep your shirt on and I’ll be right there.
I was in the back taking a nap in my chair.”
An older man stalked out, looking so sleazy
He was shabbily dressed and his hair greasy
A cigarette dangled precariously from his lips
A scary-looking pistol in a holster at his hips
Taken by surprise, we didn’t know what to say
“Uh, just how much for your rooms do we pay?”
We soon learned that he rented only by the hour
And it would be extra if we wanted to shower
We walked quickly toward the office door
“Sorry, but we are not interested any more.
Rather than stay in a motel this bizarre
It would be much better to sleep in the car.”
in skimpy short shorts
she marches into breakfast
no eyes go up
I had forgotten
the immodesty of youth
for two seconds
it’s a public place
another wears pajamas
and bedroom slippers
Rosemary does a lady proud.
If not for the faint aroma,
as nicotine and soft music
deliver a quiet invitation.
Her heart opens with the
door and allows a feeling
to grow,
a candle to be lit.
With the draw of the night,
a closing door,
she sets fire to
her insides.
The hint of desire is washed away.
Eclectic heartbreaks, but then,
maybe just daring lust
has paved such a road.
Beneath this roof is a world,
used to recreate-
a feeling found only
in dreams before.
Crimson red light, motel sign
stubbed out cigarettes, bottle of wine
Once a girl, still girl to her dad
Lifes sometimes hard, things got bad
She didn't get a scholarship
but she felt great when she was high
She was floating in the clouds
when oppotunity passed by
She lives here sometimes
when she needs to make some cash
She lays back, dreams her dreams
then smokes a little hash
She's waiting on her big blue bus
her dreams quiet, but life is loud
She's waiting on her lucky break
to make her daddy proud
She lost touch with her family
Now some time ago
But there's a few things going on
She'd rather they'd not know
life time dreams, forget to shine
life is hazy, bright motel sign
He built motels
across America
loving the land so much
he could sleep anywhere
on her
in her
cheaply,
predictably.
Anywhere was home to him.
Home was not special
but same.
Same bars of soap,
same color wrappers.
Same towels.
Same smells almost.
Same views.
Home across
the human spirit
of imaginary states.
Just outside streets
with tree names.
And out of this
I arrived
from love created for each single
completed
square space
spilling forward,
motel to motel,
born by American Motel Woman,
timeless builder,
faceless
with no Kodachrome
to pin down my origin
or capture his passion.
Pick-up truck front seat cradles,
beer for sedative,
K-Mart toys,
all-night pharmacies.
His gift-
I belong anywhere
nowhere,
owe nothing,
know anyone
no one,
am rooted in spackle
drywall
and cheap two-by-fours
and need only decide
which illusions
to put up
and which to take down.