Best Potholed Poems
J'aime la vie…I love life, with all that it brings
Alleviating the jarring pain of potholed roads
Labour uphill, thankful for easy descents,
Observe the rules, most watchful for red lights
Plagued at times by ailments, wear and tear
Yet, like a defiant aging car, I chug on and on.
------------------
11th July, 2023
Crushed coquina’s pains, salty air consoled.
Mistrusting soul, my heart could not appease.
We met when life was brimming and potholed.
My spoken words were long lost memories.
Relentlessly the past remained in view.
Romantic strolls along the shore soon died.
Again and again past pain stole love’s venue.
Good-naturedly, he listened; my soul cried.
A blemished past, his words could always soothe.
Tomorrows were awakened by his light.
He listened and life’s bumps seemed to grow smooth.
My rambling thoughts soon changed crimson to white.
We walked on crushed coquina’s endless strolls.
The salty air breathed love into our souls.
By Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
2/14/2017
Written for the Contest: Gems for your Baggage.
morning fog diffuses light
the sun has lost direction
and the world is enveloped
in silence
skeletal trees line
the potholed road
as two scrawny crows
huddle in the bare branches
yesterday's mass murders,
flooding across the pond,
asteroids,
sudden solar wind.
magnetic pole reversal,
drowning in our effluence?
sow many ways
4 world to end
Driving through the broken, potholed streets
Lined with houses spanning decades
Each with a thousandfold more character
than that of the cookie cutter impostors they call homes
I appreciate the creaks and groans
Much more than the sheen of granite stones
Value comes down to values.
What are yours?
Today, forced to detour
Last week missed my plane
Blamed it on the heavens
No, not me. I am not one to be late
Gnashed my teeth
Gnarled in these jams
Do these passers-by know who I am?
No, they don't and why should they care
After all, they're just like me
With no time to spare
Fast forward a few weeks later
Taking a leisurely drive
Shouting out to Jesus
Thank God for my view today
Grateful to be alive
Another scene;
Permit me to pencil this one in
Today I made a new friend
When two years ago
My world came to an end
Life takes us places and puts us in tight spots
Predicaments, situations and binds
Not on my watch, you snap back
The Lord never fails us, remember this
He always makes time
For his path is the right one
And he's ahead of us in the game
He's gonna pull you through
Your temporary pain
You might not remember what you had for lunch yesterday
But in the grand scheme of things
Who really cares
Except for our guiding saviour
Who will be there for us tomorrow
He's already there.
No need to be down and out
No need to be in despair
God's driving us along this
Bumpy, potholed road
We create that's in desperate need of repair.
potholed , boulder strewn
winding path up steep inclines
unwavering goal
water cascades down
wearing , skirting , bounding rocks
I will make my way
~07 Jul 2016~
I fly wide-eyed into the glinting night,
Along valleys with man-made stars aglow.
Thrills and sorrows on both sides line my flight,
Neon rivers flow restless down below.
Grandiose dreams from serried rooftops crow,
Million-watt schemes fuel every lofty light.
'Neath a sky scraped by monoliths of gold,
I fly wide-eyed into the glinting night.
Avenues wind like serpents of delight,
Sate designed desires that with lucre grow.
Fresh-minted wonders glut to gild each sight,
Along valleys with man-made stars aglow.
Manic hustle hijacks the threadbare soul,
Calls the mind daily to the ring to fight,
Ten baubles purchased for each scruple sold,
Thrills and sorrows on both sides line my flight.
Gray ghettos sprawl to host the loser’s plight,
In potholed lives the city takes a toll,
Broken windows exhale long peals of fright,
Neon rivers flow restless down below.
Yet the sidewalks gleam for all to behold,
The fittest triumph above wrong or right.
Where virtues are haloed, vices extolled,
And breathless energy scales a new height,
I fly wide-eyed.
I have seen them
strutting like cockerels on podiums
sweating like pigs in their ill-fitting suits
words bubbling out of their snake forked tongues
-democracy!- development!- unity!
I have seen them
lock themselves up in their posh grave tomblike cars,
is it to avoid the dust of the potholed roads
or the sight of poverty ridden comrades
who crawl along the streets like sprayed bedbugs
I have seen them
prancing along the corridors of power
thirsty for more, more and more
always more while their comrades get less
-Salaries – Allowances—Terms
I have seen them
preach peace but sow strife
scream democracy while muffling fundamental rights
promise development while worshiping corruption
I have seen them
torch the nation with careless words
fanning the flames of hatred amongst comrades
destroying – always destroying!
I have seen them
stamped like buffalo herds
on the foundation of the nation
till it stands on shattered and battered grounds
constitution amendments – always amending!
I have seen them
do all these and more – always more
but like a man condemned
I stand on the sidelines
watching—only watching!
Blood runs hot in government offices
fueled with the unknown citizen
and the about-to-be.
Stop this day and night with me
and you shall possess the meaning
of freedom.
Follow the fluttering and tattered flag
and you'll find
the emptiness one dreams about.
Friendships made and unmade,
betrayals reveal political lines
on potholed roads.
(you're free?)
(we don't care, we don't care)
You're free, alone amongst
the party loyalists
and the damned.
Follow winding
corridors through closed doors.
Follow patriotic thoughts
and the hungry hyenas will gather.
Follow them on the untrodden land
and contingent lines you make.
Wander the scattered chiefdoms
into the horizons
which still keep the graves
and their remembrance alive.
Idle Thoughts
When I write of a rose should
I add the adjective beautiful
I have never seen an ugly rose. Therefore, all roses are stunning
But we can argue about whether we like red or white ones.
When I kissed her tender lips was
It since she had kissed a lot before?
I held around her waist tenderly- a new adjective- and she gazed
At me likewise well I`m not a Russian given to bear hugs.
Her vulva was like a fairy- tale
I ask you, not a moist ulcer then.
Fairy tales is about sex starved princess`s with long hair in a tower
A prisoner of her father`s idea of chastity and no knitting needle
The curvature of her lower back
Struts out like ski-jump in the Alps
Petals falls of roses one by one and blinded by irrational by love
We see again after an operation cataract and daylight seeps in.
The road surface too potholed
No one asphalts my road anymore.
The young and the old are part of man's fold.
Love between them, better than gold…tenfold.
The past before told, as the future shall behold.
Depends upon love shown, not an empty billfold.
Chores hide and seek, anger vanquished…controlled.
Life molds by example as truths are told.
Family meetings upon hope's threshold,
Foster goodness without the need to scold.
Happy days upon sacrifice enrolled.
Profits many blessings; smooths lives potholed.
Freedom of choice has a responsibility twofold.
Give from the heart; let understanding enfold.
Time writes; family history lives scrolled.
Children grow and soon leave the household.
Memories in heart, that each child shall hold,
Establish free choices in love's leasehold.
Seniors who listen with wisdom bankrolled,
Experiences share…but only when polled.
Respect grows for elders as life is strolled.
Admiration earned; limiting stronghold.
The young, like the old, are part of man’s fold.
Time together grows respect’s freehold.
Helping children make choices…scorn untold.
The smiles that you give will come back ten-fold.
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
June 5, 2010
Poetic form: Monorhyme
Grace is wasted, on the lost lips of Hope,
Like the charred, bereft bile that stains your tips.
The taste of your tongue, rough and fissured, hangs
Haphazardly on mine, mind alive with the
Temptation.
Should I take your eyes? Worthless as they seem,
As pitiful as the potholed, pits which run over your
Cheek. Do I forget my belt hung still
On the mantle of a youths old dream –
To surrender a second with you?
Time has no feeling, when only with ancient eyes
Can you implore, duty bound to protect alien kin. I
Have forgotten them; like they never touched my name
With long closed lips. You came then, blue waste in the
Poison of your breath, sterile to my protest.
Do it, unlock it, steal my heart. Take the words of great
Fallen men, call them your own lies. Deny the courage,
Carnage fought for the sweet silver of earthen skies, bite
The dripping apple still hung on my frostbitten lips.
Unlock it with the simple caress of your death enticing tips.
When I was but a boy
in the small village of Cold Springs,
I lived near a cantankerous old witch.
At least, that's what the gossip implied she was.
Her name was Almeda Hamilton, and she was a hoarder.
Of course, we knew nothing of hoarders back then
and most everyone thought she was plum crazy.
She'd trap and skin groundhogs and squirrels,
salt their hides and stitch their raw pelts into fur coats.
Pew, you could smell her coming downwind for miles.
She lived off-road in a patch of trees
in a dilapidated cottage crammed with garbage.
The irony is, her father once owed the whole county,
and she was an heiress,
suffering from a severe phobia and mental problem.
Years back, or so the story goes,
her fiancée had left her at the altar,
but her father had built them that house,
and so, she stayed there a recluse.
It was rumored she'd buried hordes of cash,
and when she died, alone in her filth,
her property was potholed by fools trying to find it.
I confess, I felt sorry for her then, and still do,
for the lady got mistreated by the world,
and on its behalf, I apologize.
(Free Verse)
03/18/2020
Her story of life, her ups and her downs,
Her story of “Just getting by”,
Her story of doing all she can do,
Of achieving enough to not die,
Is written with belief from her tender heart,
Belief of what she’ll attain,
Belief of all the things she can achieve,
By doing them over again,
And knowing she has character to stand by her word,
Can forfeit her personal time,
And is creative enough to solve any snags,
And doesn’t resort to a whine,
The story of her, her rockiest road,
The potholed path that she walks,
Is her beautiful life of happy and care,
With her happiest, beautiful thoughts.
Night sky: lifeless, dull, chalky gray
Apathetic expressions face one way
Eyelids heavy, long day
Foggy windows, potholed roads
Warm breaths exhaled, the seats are cold
Zombied stares at blinding screens
Infinite autopilot, we're all machines