Best Parking Lot Poems
I’m so sad mom
That I’m missing the chance
To be with you on your birthday
and to watch you dance
Yet your spirit I admire
You’ll celebrate with style
With friends in a parking lot
You’ll boogie for a while
Enjoy your special night
even if it’s a bit chilly
Let others ponder
the magic of being silly
You are so amazing
the youngest eighty I know
The music stills moves you
Whether it’s fast or slow
So open all the windows
of your shiny Ford Escape
Fly to the sound of the Radio
my hero without a cape
May the night skies twinkle
to the sound of the beat
and the pavement marvel
at the movement of your feet
For you my dear mom
are a one of a kind
and I’ll be there dancing with you
Even though it’s just in my mind.
I love you mom
Happy Eightieth Birthday!
May 18th, 2020
I also want to do a shoutout to my friend Eileen Manassian who shares the same birthday as my mom. I hope you have an amazing day Eileen. My friends, please drop by and wish Eileen a Happy Happy Birthday! The added bonus is that you will get to read her amazing poetry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A flickering sodium eye,
half-blind with age,
watches the cracked asphalt.
Wind lifts a plastic bag~
ghost of some forgotten purchase~
dancing its slow, weightless waltz
toward the dumpster’s rusted mouth.
A car door slams.
Keys jangle like distant wind chimes.
Footsteps, hurried then gone.
The light buzzes~
a tired expression about emptiness
until dawn licks the horizon
and the moths surrender.
Eight star-silver and cloud white
vehicles all in a line. One red sedan
their punctuation mark.
It's not a flower, it isn't yellow,
it's just this rabid,
fearless fellow.
I'm in a hurry and can't be late,
but for a closer space I'll wait.
Around and around I slowly go,
a closer space is sure to show.
I see some tail lights start to glow
but it is in another row.
I must hurry and not delay.
I hit the gas...I'm on my way.
Victory will soon be mine,
instead I slam my brakes on just in time.
Don't these people crossing know
that I should be the first to go.
I honk my horn and wave my hand.
They don't seem to understand.
A closer space will save me time,
but now again I wait in line.
P.R.Deremer
Spring is fast approaching; it's warm outside,
parking lot carnivals will arrive soon.
In my youth, I'd watch carnies set up rides,
while the popcorn popper whistled a tune.
I loved to ride on the merry-go-round;
it was like riding a galloping horse.
Nothing else ever felt as good to me,
having tried all the other rides, of course.
There were gypsies to predict your future,
whose intentions you had to consider.
For they'd peddle their magical trinkets,
to the superstitious highest bidder.
I recall when I was a little boy
how those carnivals brought me so much joy.
With twilight a few days away
Answers were revealed in strange places
Alignment of the planets
A chorus only I heard
A coven of 5 female clowns
Holding hands in a circle
In the Walgreens parking lot
Slowly walking in circles
Chanting some unrecognizable omen
Everyone saw them, only I heard them
You see, folks come to Walgreens
Hoping for a cure
Real or imaginary
An apparition appeared through the mist
Apparently the chanting showed results
A tall figure, hair aflame
Exulted the coven to disperse
Shooting stars hesitated above their heads
Casting an evil glow upon them
Suddenly the clowns disappeared
Screams fading into the trees
Leaving only charred ashes
Omens
Cast
Away
demure pink panties
orange in the glow of the streetlights
d
a
n
g
l
i
n
g
from a petite
cinnamon colored ankle
the bronze back of ghetto lust
flexes and glistens
above the writhing form of sensuality incarnate
battle of the sexes
the incubus versus the succubus
in a seventy-four chevy
write your name on the window
has you pass by
I live in a trailer park in upstate N.Y.
proud, dumb white trailer trash I is
don't really know well my neighbors
to me that is just as well
you'll understand far better when
you hear the tale I'll tell
across from my small single trailer
looms a large expensive double
but the weird guy living there
seems potential trouble
he has this most odd fetish
this obsession I find odd
he seems very territorial
like his brain was made of sod
he has, in front of his homesite
5 marked parking spaces you see
he has but one little car
and never has any company
he posted a big sign, "No Parking!!"
that's just what it did say
but weirder by far I tell you
and this I can't figure out to this day
he parks his little car,
in an angle so oblique
so he covers at least 3 spots
now I know just what it seems he does really seek
and it's so dumb I laughed so hard, I grew weak
he's "protecting" his useless ground
which he doesn't own at all
it kind'a makes me laugh
at such moronic gall
he's very like a dog
so I wonder if he might
urinate around these spots
perhaps in the middle of the night
the thought, oh my!, that'd be a scary sight!
"marking his territory"
that's really public space
to me he seems buffoonish
a disgrace to the human race
I watch him through my window
sometimes when he comes out
this little round weasel clown-man
makes you want to shout
"hey, duck-head! why not a barricade?
and keep out even more?
and maybe provide you with some shade?
or maybe a fence and toll booth
and armed guards to keep away
those who are a parking space thief?
and think just how it would provide you
with much, much more relief?
"cause you worry someone will park
in one of "your spots"
I guess this fear is your strong belief.
Unused parking lot
inspires another one
as urban sprawl
becomes the new normal
paper bag dances in wind
Why are the sea gulls shopping here, if not
for "White Stag, "No Boundaries." or "Faded Glory?"
Is there some other story? Coffee, Tea or You,
or just practicing beach and gray-sky calls
over concrete, carts, and Handicapped Blue?
This turf is for blackbirds of the piercing cry, haughty
strut and beady stare. It's not for you to straddle
halogen in your evening wear of dove-gray, black
tie in this car-lot of no swells, no breakers.
What lures you displaced gracefuls-- calls you
from rides on a rogue wind, pushing lace-topped
tides to stock minnow meals in pellucid sloughs?
You've paid your dues, and dour land birds
are the parking lot denizens. Surely you harbor
a peculiar appetite for hors d'oeuvres that do not
swim or paddle, though you buzz pedestrians
on stony reaches as when dive-bombing
the deep, or cruising the beaches.
For whatever draws you to the superstore,
super birds, I pray you reap Neptune's
pardon as you vie for the rail over the holy grail
of the Wal-Mart sign, where no whitefish,
black fish, shrimp or snail, no fiddler crab
scuttles for safety. And may our God absolve
us our sins of the past-- our ever advancing
invasion of concrete, steel, and glass.
A crowded lot
Cars vying for space
Large and small
Over a patch of ground
To call their own
The people no better
As inside the stores
It is a race
To get "that"
Before somebody else does
Long, crowded lines
Parking lots empty of space
People unaware
That they provided
The inspiration
For this poem
Fears that the
escalator to get
down to the
parking lot
stifling you..
The
Pile does not end.
Cars together as people
do not let you go
pass between.
This madness.
Clutch with madness on your mop.
Underground garage
A book of poems
Born yesterday
Crushed
Claw.
Instead of hands
Cold metal
Prosthesis
Still silent.
I'm bleeding on the way
not sold
not enough
Gorgeous
Not enough
Poet
Are you afraid?
are you afraid?
are you afraid?
not to be
shown
as a
Po-et
Shards of moonlight slice through my dash
weakened by long silent rain drops.
Sarah, tosses her blonde hair in half circles
bringing waves of Brian Wilson's “feel flows”
crashing off my thoughts of tainted blood.
She's still opaque behind heart shaped glassess, but
I've already seen the soft moles below her eye.
Newports and tangerine trident escape the rhythm.
Pabst blue ribbon and crooked art work is
passed through rolled up tin foil.
The click of my lighter glows the weeping
hairs on the side of her cheek.
Focusing on the melting numbers of the clock,
my eyes ignore imperfection.
Another number Drip and the thud of the car door will
leave me with only her silver hair clip.
Before I can spit another stylish fragment
She drives her hand through ashes
presses all of New York City on My neck..
Encountered some drivers
In a mall parking lot
Absolutely blew my li'l ole mind
Rude and obnoxious
Only way to describe 'em
What's with this self absorbed kind
Seems so damn important
To always be first
Are there no more “courteous” drivers
Are they gone with hoop skirts
And Saddle Shoes
Happy to say I'm a survivor
It's much like a war zone
As they race for a space
What's happened, where's chivalry gone
People on crutches
Men stooped over
Fair game for this bunch of morons
I'll get off my soapbox
Attempt to mellow out
What I saw was beyond comprehension
If I used foul language
I'd be just like them
Must be living in different dimension
© Jack Ellison 2013