Best Skidding Poems
God’s Saving Grace
Sudden flashes of lights
Brings me out of my fog
I panic slamming the brake
Still to close
I gear down
Hearing the skidding tiers
Smelling rubber
Overwhelmed by terror
Traffic coming from both directions
I grip tight to the wheel turning it
To the left on a two way street
I glance to the right of my vision and see
I’ve Leaping into the path
Of an oncoming truck
Feeling completely helpless
Knowing it was going to hit my right side of my car
I glance forward to the sight of a ditch
I turn the wheel left to avoid going in
I Hit gravel
Then a thump back on the road
As the steering wheel is jerking left to right
Right to left out of control
At that moment
I see my son in a vision
Watching the terror he went through
Avoiding a deer and running into a pond
A few years back
At that moment
God stands as my Master
With arms out stretched
God takes control of my world
He reaches out
Pushing the truck away
To the right to avoid hitting me
The truck is forced into an oncoming car
God reaches out to the left and stopped it
He takes hold of my world
And takes control
Of my steering wheel
And safely makes me come to a stop
On the side of the road
Facing the wrong direction
I sit in shock shaking uncontrollably
Marveling the miracle
That had just happen
I pulled in safely into a driveway to calm down
I make the sign of the Cross
And whispered prayers of
God saving grace
Because He took control
I didn’t have the skill
To do what I did
Three days later I’m still in tears
Of the nightmare
I went through
A movie being playing over and over
Of a vision of God stretching out His arms
Guiding everyone
I’m blessed with the relationship
I have with God
Believing in His miracles
His guardian angels
Archangel Michael
© 7/3/2015
Skidding along the ice-covered ground
Traversing like a runaway hound
Eluding, hopping on series of mound
And lines of snowflakes over a thousand pound
Skiing from a snow peak so high
In my soul an eidetic heart that thrives
Your memory I keep alive not sigh
Your vim in me that cogently drives
With the dancing sun that shines on me not dries
Over and under frigid trees my skis and I flies
Hails and blizzards never bid you my byes
My feet on drifting snow, my heart never dies
The floating moon sends you my voice in verse
You, I adore, and pray for without haste
A boon in my life I hoist, not immerse
Up and down the snow-filled hills, my love I praise
Speechless
Beauty of Dress
Beauty of Speechless
Skidding on the Rails
Why? I cannot hear.
I cannot speak.
Like me.
Divergent hole, speechless.
We can dance.
Eat.
See.
But not hear.
I am not too distant.
Nippon Weapon
So what do I say to them?
Dance to it?
Sunshine, Living to the end. Effect of the night.
News of the sword.
Crucify the bad. What are you – a fool?
Of course I am.
TV Actuality.
TV Factuality
Speechless to hear, healthcare.
Black or White, Lips open or closed. Read the magazine.
But I cannot Speak
It is factual
Through my Lips
Rubber slips on the road ahead,
It’s a dream I had while asleep in bed.
The sound of those screeching tyres.
Just 17 and ill prepared for such a car.
Far to fast for my skills, left with a scar.
The sound of those screeching tyres.
Skidding side to side with no control,
then hitting the kerb, I started to roll.
The sound of those screeching tyres.
Laying lifeless on the side of the road,
still the ability to think my car may explode.
The sound of those screeching tyres.
Waking a week later in a place unknown
To find I have more than one broken bone.
Still, the sound of those screeching tyres.
Thirteen years on it still strikes a nerve
Listening to a car when it has to swerve
…..the resounding sound of those screeching tyres.
No one knows his name…
He is a villain though his back looks pitiful
because he walks with a limp; nevertheless, to hide his complex—one leg is shorter than the other, he bathes with innocent blood and quenches his thirst with the breath a malignant spirit exhaled.
He dethroned his father to gain power.
He devoured his own offspring to satisfy his insatiable appetite.
He chopped ‘Present’ off with an axe sharpened with a stone
named ‘Past,’ and stamped on it with his limping leg, to make sure
that uncertain ‘Future’ would never be able to germinate.
You who survived today somehow,
should go to bed with the prayer for tomorrow as the sun goes down.
People step out from their homes with hope because the sun rises.
They get to their work place to earn a day’s living. They step into the manmade order, the gears, and after all the day’s skidding and crushing in the gears with missing teeth
they stop by a tavern, on the way home to relieve the day’s stresses,
where the glasses of booze are filled with drifting ripples.
It may be a blessed moment.
For ‘Present’ is granted in a light-headed haziness
from a few shots of whiskey; they see distorted yesterdays
and twisted tomorrows, and as the happy mood deepens
the comets with long tails crossing the skies fall into the little universe;
the glasses they hold in their hand.
As stars fall,
the limping Cronus hurriedly enters the tavern
and brandishes the axe to chop the happy drunkards’ heads off,
because he was left out in cold by the drunkards, who were in a happy mood.
Note: 1. Titan Cronus and personified chronos-time, are used as synonym 2. Cf: Goya. Saturn [Cronus] devouring one of his children
Ma! He’s Looking At Me! Make him stop! MA! He’s LOOKING at ME!
And so goes life in the early morn. Two ragamuffins, in battle, and angry.
He touched me! He touched me first! He’s looking at me! Here we go, again.
Two children acting badly, as I stare them into submission, momentarily, amen.
While cleaning up after breakfast… they’re now running through the house.
Heaven should ever forbid, that they’d once, just once, be quiet as a mouse.
The second they come around me, I step out clearly between them, in their way.
Children can be exhausting in the antics, they find readily, that they can display.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love them, as one just skidded into the dog, in his way.
At this it’s a time out, and when finished different toys, in different rooms, horray!
But life is never that easy, as one tries to sneak past me, while he’s on the attack.
It’s just a simple bundle of energy, driving them, that, they never do seem to lack.
But every day there’s always an answer, to every prayer, that I have ever sent.
My sons had wound up the cats, and now are playing with them, till they’re spent.
Yes, you’re right it wasn’t my sons, and yes, it truly was their playful little cats.
Surely you didn’t think my sweet, darling, little children, would ever act like that?
In fact, once upon a time, you know, that of course, they actually did.
But they are past the terrible two’s now, and definitely more refined kids.
But as they head out, to catch the bus, one barrels past the other to the door.
Then he runs back skidding into the chair, as I hold the lunch out, he ignored.
Then the other, gives a push so fine, to tell him to hurry or they’ll be late.
But laughter rings out, as the girl next door, joins them, sweetly at the gate.
CSEastman 2-11-2013 Contest: Maybe I'm Amazed
skidding tires-
crying at her funeral
Entry in the Broken Monoku contest
trying not to roll
car skidding out of control….
bald tires take their toll
I dropped the vase
And watched it shatter
As it hit the tile floor.
Shards of glass exploded
Outward,
Skidding and spinning
In every direction.
I just stood there
Staring at the remains,
Remembering my Mom's
Wildflowers in that vase
On the kitchen table
Years ago.
She’d picked them often,
I’d watch her from
The window
As she carefully selected
the brightest ones,
Focus and determination
Etched on her face.
She’d fill the vase with
Her bouquet,
Arranging them just so,
And commenting on
How much she loved wildflowers.
But the vase that once held
My mom’s wildflower treasures
Is now broken beyond repair,
It’s glass pieces scattered
All around me.
Do I doubt the shiny glass
Which shows the print of time
Around the curve of my mouth and eyes?
Years and years
Of the widespread wings of hope
Folded in the shadows of concern
Caught in the claws of fear
So many years, so many years
The folding and unfolding of wings...
How do I erase
The memories of past deeds and things
Which have fallen into unpleasant places
Upon my face?
There lies a timeline
Behind my eyes...
My children wish to hurry it
In a flurry, with a fury
Want to skip and push the wheel around
And around and around
A merry-go-round
To swerve around the curve
Of the earth's revolution
While I want to drag it
With my heels skidding the ground
To secure it for a moment
To ponder a solution
Yet there was a time I felt like them
Are not these the same eyes
Which first beheld my own mother?
I saw these eyes anew
Each time I birthed another.
There lies a timeline behind...
Grandmother lay in a hospital bed
A cloud of white
Her hair, her thin tired skin
Bed sheets
Mouth drawn in a straight line
Pain behind her pale blue
Remembering her with dark hair
Glistening eyes
But here she lies...
I rave at time as if it were the criminal
Yet I know the truth of this decay
When first weeds and thorns began to spread
The day humanity lost its innocence
The first lamb lay dead
A time like no other
The anger, the blood, the curse of time
The broken heart
The loving promise of the Father
At the foot of the cross
Blood stained the wood
Blood stained time
Left an indelible mark
A day like no other
Jesus Christ
The perfect lamb
Against which time cannot stand.
Fifteen bison hit the road
With freedom on their mind,
Without a backward glance to see
The ranch they left behind.
When word got out, the cops were called
Though they were unprepared
To deal with creatures of that size.
(I’d guess that they were scared.)
The bison crossed a highway;
Trucks were skidding to a halt,
With accidents avoided
(Though no one would be at fault).
There is a sad conclusion,
The decision being made
To shoot them all, a sorry end
To their brief escapade.
The days when bison roamed the plains
Are lost and gone for good,
A fact that these poor shaggy beasts
Might have misunderstood.
The Living Guitar
The guitar chords strum “BLOWNLY” in deep throbbing tones,
vibrating with their ending, like a heart that moans.
The guitar strings wine ‘’GWENNDDA” to our receptive ears.
And with their soothing melody, they ease our wanton fears.
The guitar clip is “SQUEALING’’ short quick skidding sounds.
That cross the strings so rapidly no echo is ever found.
The guitar is like a woman, who with her shapely curves,
sings a cerci song, to generate the verve.
2/8/17
Weather Forecast.
There used to be winters before the weather became entertainment.
There was frost, rain, flooding and landslide one had to accept as norm,
unless it was of a disastrous dimension. 1948 was so cold birds fell
from the sky and we had steal coal at the depot – a hole in the fence not
repaired before spring- the worker knew but looked away, this was a time
of social cohesion, we´re equally poor and recovering from a war
Snow in Ohio, and we see cars skidding on icy roads, what a distraction
from our sheltered life, nature actually exists and we better show respect
if not nature will turn against us and shake us into obeisance.
A dark night, no stars, no moon,
light rain
the rumble of distant thunder
a gunshot, close
the sound of feet, running
loud voices, screaming
a car door slamming shut
tires skidding
another gunshot
a pause,
footsteps on the porch
doorknob turning
a rattle of the door
deadbolt holding
police siren, closing fast
footsteps moving
and then it stopped
distant thunder, light rain
no stars, no moon
6/2/17
20 Claps of Thunder
20 claps of thunder
19 kids are shouting
18 streets are flooding
17 lanes rerouting
16 lights are flashing
15 horns that blow
14 sirens wailing
13 weather men didn't know
12 umbrellas going up
11 old ladies fall down
10 times zero yards mowed
9 fender benders in town
8 tornado watches
7 cars skidding by
6 people wearing raincoats
5 birds in the sky
4 baseball games cancelled
3 little wet dogs barking
2 trees blowing in the wind
1 afternoon sky darkening