Best Muffler Poems
He begs me to come, but he's run out of luck
You won't catch me dead in that beat-up old truck!
It was painted blue...now the color is rust
But you can't be too sure...since it's covered in dust!...
The engine must idle, (about an hour is good)
You can feel the vibration, around the whole neighborhood
A life is at risk, if you go for a ride!
The windshield is broken, and leaks rain inside
It makes a weird noise, rides bumpy and rough
The dashboard is littered and covered with "stuff"
The seat cushion's torn, and it pokes at my rear
The dog sits beside us and licks at my ear
There's no place below us, for resting my feet
There's a hole in the floor, O my God, there's the street!!!
The windows don't close, so there's more than a breeze
Wrappers from Twinkies, a Burger King box...
One lonely old sneaker, and smelly old socks
Half a stale donut smashed down on the floor
Darn!! The dog beat me to it, and is looking for more!!
The muffler is loose, you can see the sparks fly
Dirty looks from the folks, who get smoke in their eyes
When we drive by the neighbors, I duck my head and I hide
I'm no Prima Donna....but I've still got some pride!!
He loves that old truck, he calls her a gem!
Make him choose between us??? ....I'd be out on a limb!!
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For Verlena Walker's Slamming Battle Contest
The Old man of Merces
His wrinkled face bearing slaps of time
His eyes barren like a desert starved of rain
Glittering they must be during his prime
Crumbling body holding spirit in chain
His trembling hands resting on knees
Sinking and floating in thoughts deep
Oblivious of dry leaves falling of trees
Looking exhausted from lack of sleep
Unloved by loved ones abandoned by friends
His profile silhouetted like a ship aground
Tired of beleaguered life’s twists and bends
Wishing his soul ascended the chariot Heaven-bound
A loveless life senseless for him
Agony and heartache ceaseless for him
The society appears as heartless for him
A longer living meaningless for him
My heart urged to stop by and greet
His souring thoughts from confines of chest release
The man with love and compassion treat
But alas my tongue isn’t Portuguese
Each day in the morning cold
The snow-haired I found, resting on a boulder
Wearing a coat lusterless and old
With the muffler around neck hanging over shoulder
After absence of few months as I return
I find him no more on the boulder dozed
Like boiling waters in vapor turn
Seeing everything with eyes closed
With spirit in bondage and soul in chain
The picture of despair in a society blind
The symbol of affliction, anguish and pain
The venerable old man I failed to find
---
1 A small town in Sintra District in Portugal
Feb.2010
Time has become my greatest enemy
It drags on, an infernal grating on the nerve
Like a broken muffler, dragging around the curve
While my love and I starve for each other’s company
Until time surrenders, I wait my love with bated breath
Watching time, which I have confounded for going by so slowly
For that hour, that minute, that second, when you will be mine only
When I shall pledge my love to you forever, until death
For: Barbara Gorelick’s contest
Once Upon A “Time”
I must admit that I ain't very handy with hammer and nails,
And am hopelessly at sea when figurin' technical details.
As to fixin' things with fancy tools, I haven't a clue,
But I'm a whiz at usin' duct tape, balin' wire and super glue!
Tho' it's somewhat unwieldly and it sure ain't too ornate,
Balin' wire can be used in an emergency as hinges for a gate!
'Tis perfect for securin' the droopin' bumper on my automobile,
And for supportin' the saggin' muffler, balin' wire is ideal!
No doubt you'll bond at least two fingers together, 'tis true,
But, Oh! The myriad of things to be fixed with super glue!
'Tis good for repairin' artificial teeth when in a pinch,
And for mendin' broken shards and earrings, 'tis a cinch!
How can we ever thank the feller who invented duct tape enough!
It holds the universe together! Life without it would be tough!
It'll patch anything, gag a spouse, keep a man's toupee in place;
Why! It was even used to repair Apollo 13 in outer space!
With these marvels of the modern age I can tackle any situation,
Fixin' things with simple application and heady innovation.
Why should I be thwarted usin' nails, screws, staples and such,
When duct tape, super glue and balin' wire are my sturdy crutch!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Motionless
It looked such a sorry sight
Standing in the shed
Covered in rust and dust
With just a trace of red
A vibrant red with a flash of black
Across the outside door
No sign of this embellishment
As the car sinks into the floor of the shed
A car that has lost its glory
Stands motionless and dead
This old car was my pride and joy
Many moons ago
It's going to be a wrench
To see this vehicle go
Even though the seats are worn
As are the tyres, gears and brakes
When the engine is turned on
A dreadful noise it makes
Smoke billows everywhere
The muffler has snuffed it
Mice have made their home in there
Which they must soon all exit
Broken windscreen, windows scratched
Doors all buckled and dented
Tattered stickers on the car
Air freshener that once was scented
I suppose it's true or so it's said
Everything has its day
This was my thinking
As the car was towed away
To the wreckers. a graveyard for most
One wonders if those worn-out cars
Become angels or ghosts
Abbott Cat
—————————————(Dedicated to our unique cat Gnash)***.
*…..*****….*****…..
Know that Abbott Cat
Had the stride
Of the pure…placing:
Each step forward
With the slightest lift
of the upper ankle
So to set down his
Paws — first the toes,
Then the heels
As ballet dancers do,
In a gait of grace and
Blessed dignity…
Like the passing by
Of an acolyte — we
May nod our heads
In respect and
recognition
of the passing
Cross.
Abbott held, so
It felt, some
Secret knowledge,
Some gems requiring
A very regal posture.
To carry the inner
Cache of
Secrets of heaven;
Some wisdom
His mews
Could not share?
Still, his noble
Carriage and his
mystery held psalms
Giving lyrics to his
Every motion, with
A prefacing instant
Of a weightless rise.
And, Abbott
Welcomed
An open lap
To curl round upon:
His black, furry back’s
Cape and vestment-
muffler tail,
To be stroked
By a gentle hand,
Without precepts…
Over and again,
Like the redeemer’s
Promises, a gracing
Causing Abbott Cat’s
Spirit a wistful smile,
Plus a coded, grateful
Mew…
———————————————
(c) sally young eslinger 9/2021
Thanks be to God
Lift your face to the sun;
Heart bells of elation,
Ring and renew the spirit.
Souls music needs no technology to play;
Angels tutor the soul,
In the compositions of ecstasy;
Such orchestras are eternal.
Mortal ears never hear what the soul’s do.
The ability exists, in the ears of belief.
The baffle of mortality;
The muffler that stifles a spirit’s songs, is a thief.
Science is the profiteer that
deludes the singing soul into silence.
Dispense with the facts;
Sit in the silence to hear the concert of your life.
Do you ever think of the good ole days,
And what they really were?
Such peace and understanding,
Such joy filled our hearts,
No time for demanding,
How about a game of darts?
We all pulled together,
So no ONE did all the work.
The air so much cleaner,
No one went berserk.
Now you look around you,
Only if you dare,
It seems such an issue,
Doesn’t anyone care?
But we go on living,
That’s what they call it now,
Too much a misgiving,
Makes you wonder how.
Peace on earth,
Goodwill to men,
These are just words,
That have been.
So when you wake in the morning,
And breathe in your smog,
Your tale is dragging,
No time to jog.
Just for a second,
Think about life,
Think of your children,
Don’t forget your wife.
Think about living,
The best that you can.
Think about giving,
An extra hand.
What can you do,
About things as they are?
Maybe a new muffler,
On that Junker of a car.
Maybe a smile,
Wherever you are.
I have heard it contagious,
So be careful out there,
Some think it outrageous,
To show that you care.
Lets bring back the old days,
Lets breathe again,
Lets enjoy our life,
The best that we can.
"The Circus"
The master of ceremonies taps his cane to begin the fireworks
While graduates of the ground exercise their prowess high above
They are wired with decent grip on balancing poles that save their lives
The crowd holds their breath to a well paced piece written just for them
Expressing god given talents in consonance to the format of the show
There are many circumstances of life and death to travel a topsy turvy wire
The crowd has gasped enough
Surprising all who thought they could not do it
The danger, the glory, all to the tune of "Let Me Fall"
A luscious aria for the ears begins to assuage the high tensions
Seeing participants of talent take on amazing feats
Colorfully contorting and twisting to terrifying positions
We could never dream about for it would break our backs
A motorcycle roars loudly without a muffler, majestically it comes
To ride the ring of fire for which rock anthems echo
Off the circle and through the heat while the elephants wait their turn
Standing on hind legs they rise to the occasion
Responding to measures that escalate the mood,
Agnes waves her dancing trunk in 4/4 time
The audience waves back and claps in satisfaction
For the show that began as the Circus Maximus
When Romans needed entertainment all those years ago
And the practitioners of stunt were truly at risk flying high
Without cords and wires for safety, they flew to new realms
Of daring and danger all meant for applauding strangers
Lions and tigers and bears oh my! Today will be so special for the kids
Looking at this and looking at that, all amongst a backdrop of darkness
The clowns flipping bowling pins flopping around in over sized red shoes
Their jovial exterior matches a beauty inside them
It's all for the children responding to boisterousness and glee
Tigers know when to roar and acrobats know when to soar
Adding to a perfect panorama no one can possibly take it all in
The finale comes to an end and they say good bye, taking a bow
Lights come back on and the atmosphere is gone
And leaving almost feels like a sin
Written March 8, 2012
Death mixed with morning rain and darkness,
Icy patches hidden on the pavement
Lived comfortably on the outside
As I rode along in my car like the
Planchette of a Ouija board.
Unaware that the power(s) that be
Were battling against each other
To push my car on the board to
Spell out either life or death,
My morning thoughts
Were interrupted
By a 360 spin faster than
The distance between
Two thoughts...
Ending up muffler-first gagged on
A snowbank with nothing,
No one around for miles.
I gazed at the three-lane
Highway where LIFE
Was spelled out this time,
And realized that
DEATH may have been on the
Board thirty minutes later
During a busier time.
Thirty minutes later
Found me talking
To a mechanic
Instead of my family talking
About me in the past tense
And trying to communicate with
Me through the Ouija board.
Death inefficiently cheated
Marked off on My To Do list
For the day.
How many more times will
I be able to mark that off?
Dare I ask the Ouija board
Knowingly sitting in the corner
Of my closet?
Slow motion memories.
Street lit like a movie set,
outside the dance hall.
Muffler-less cars,
full throttle, then eerily quiet.
Self willed machines idling along the street,
flooding the night; flashing eyeballs,
headlining teenage girls.
A sashaying crush; glancing, giggling,
disdainful in stinging beehives,
plastic jackets, high gloss paint and oily pants.
Cruising crass flash
false virility in high gloss paint.
James Dean on Sunset Strip.
Hands on the stick shift; giving themselves the gears.
skinny boys glancing in the mirror, where dice and kewpie dolls hang,
squinting at astigmatisms of Steve McQueen on hunk steroids.
Nervous to fingered combs slink through their hair,
checking out the rear end drive,
outside the dance hall on a Friday night.
A curly haired boy,
red faced brother of my best friend, never owned a car,
pushes forward in the street,
to talk with sister and friends.
Asked a girl for a kiss.
Too easily dismissed.
In the science lab; class dismissed.
Counters gleam grade A sterility.
Chemicals stare coldly from spotless beakers.
Put his mouth over the gas jet.
A curly haired boy,
going nowhere on a Friday afternoon.
Dad Revisited
RIP 1924-2015
Last night I sat up in bed and prayed a little longer,
I asked god to send dad back for just one more day with great fervour.
Dad was waiting for me in the verandah as soon as I reached,
Seated on his cane chair with legs outstretched.
Suited- booted, neat crisp turban, expectant eyes so tender
The same tweed coat, the warm muffler across his shoulder.
The moment he saw me he fumbled for his walking stick,
Stood up took a few steps forward in a nick.
We embraced each other tight as he planted as kiss on my head,
I nuzzled against his warm coat enjoying the love of my figurehead.
Warm drops of love fell on my cheeks,
Saw oceans pouring through his teary creeks.
'I can't control them', he said chokingly,
Feeling the other's heart beats we clung to each other tightly.
'Let's go to the garden, the grape fruit is waiting for you!'
We walked together slowly over his leafy garden dew.
Dad showed me the new cuttings and saplings he had potted for me,
He pointed to the overgrown grass and said his workers were on leave.
He said,' Ah, for more varieties of flowers!
But the dogs don't spare them in my bowers'.
We smiled and saw the overladen grape fruit trees,
I plucked three grapefruits and said they would suffice with a tease.
We slowly climbed up the steps to our sunny verandah to sit alone,
He asked me what was it that I had wanted to tell him over the phone.
I read out my poem, '13, West Macott Road', a nostalgia shakeup,
Of our ancestral home in Poona where he had grown up.
I was reared up there, too, by my grandparents,
He wept and hugged each other, our undying love evident.
'I can't believe you had this talent and I didn't know about it till now,
You always make me cry with your emotions, but no more will I allow!'
He took out his kerchief to wipe my tears, his permanent flair,
I was still sniffing when I sighted his empty cane chair.
December 10, 2015
Contest: Just One More Day
Sponsor: Laura Loo
The Choice is Ours
And so here we are on the brink of d-day
This week we will know how our future will sway
The duffer, the bluffer, the candidates with the muffler
Which one of these candidates will we have to suffer
If you voted for friendship go jump in the sea
If you voted for abstract plans you're dumber than they
If you voted for empty promises then that should be fine
Because sooner or later the they will resign
Democracy demands we give them a chance
But this time I think we should join in the dance
Coz whoever they are, the students at the helm
The Gambia College still belongs to us, not only to them
We gave them their seats, the nineteenth you know
We voted them to power between me and you
But whether they prove to be wise candidates or fools
This college is ours so let's play by the rules
Let's not break the law, can we please stand in line
Let's not pull those strings to avoid paying IEC fine
Let's finally get that a red light means stop
Let's not stoop to bribing the poor students cop
Let's be part of the reason our Gambia College is great
Let's be good students before it's too late
Let's serve our great College without hesitation
Let's all work together to build a strong unification
Enough of the trolling, the barbs and the fights
Now let's stick together, stand up for our rights
They might have the seats, the nineteenth we still know
But the College belongs to me and to you
And we're a thousand students, a thousand and plus
At the end of the day, the choice is ours
Until then, make no mistakes
She was called, Stella, my little yella lemon!
A Chevy Citation,you can only imagine my elation!
She started almost ever time I needed her too.
As long as the wires were crossed the fire flew!
No horn and a rattle in the end.
The hood was buckled with a slight bend.
You had to turn the car off, to turn her wipers on.
The bumper was duck taped and her muffler was wired on, its true!
It even quit more than a time or two!
She was a stick shift and got rubber in one gear, which made her hard to steer!
Drivin’ down the road she would sway to the radio’s greatest hits
Getting her grove on until a pot hole punched her dance ticket
and there we sit! Not to worry I cleaned her battery cable and post
once I got her to coast, the motor finally hit, her rods a
knockin’, and we were back on the road listening to our radio and a rockin
Christmas is all about the gifts:
The gift of love, whether earthly, or above;
The physical gifts of joy---a muffler or a toy;
The gift of laughing cheer with someone you hold dear;
The gift of receiving, if you're worthy and undeceiving.
Christmas is all about the gifts:
Givers without receivers would cancel giving, too;
Receiving is a virtue, so be glad when you do;
When you get what you want, don't sham a shame and wilt;
Feel no dishonest guilt, take Christmas to the hilt.