Best Stoplight Poems
Stoplight Fireflies
Stoplight fireflies blink yellow
over vacant intersections
Owls whisper on the mist
mime-like field mice listen
Soft surf muffles side step
clatter of crab legs
Feral eyes swallow
waning moonlight
A possum waddles beneath
blinking yellow fireflies.
©John G. Lawless
4/3/2017
Two Scavengers in a Truck,
Two Beautiful People in a Mercedes
At the stoplight waiting for the light
nine a.m. downtown San Francisco
a bright yellow garbage truck
with two garbage men in red plastic blazers
standing on the back stop
one on each side hanging on
and looking down into
an elegant open Mercedes
with an elegant couple in it
The man
in a hip three-piece linen suit
with shoulder-length blond hair & sunglasses
The young blond woman so casually coiffed
with a short skirt and colored stockings
on the way to his architect's office
And the two scavengers up since four a.m.
grungy from their route
on the way home
the older of the two with grey iron hair
and hunched back
looking down like some
gargoyle Quasimodo
And the younger of the two
also with sunglasses & long hair
about the same age as the Mercedes driver
And both scavengers gazing down
as from a great distance
at the cool couple
as if they were watching some odorless TV ad
in which everything is always possible
And the very red light for an instant
holding all four close together
as if anything at all were possible
between them
across that small gulf
in the high seas
of this democracy
The train pulled out of the
Clouds singing
Harmonies
I asked the conductor for
Some change
He said "son don't you know?
Nobody's payin'"
I said "sure but the stoplight is
Ahead"
Thunder and lightnin'
Lit the outline of faces I had
Known
Not one
Knew the tune
Playin' in my head
I'm sure I saw the face
of
Mother Theresa
A smile I thought
Just around the
Bend
About then the ride came
To a tumblin'
End
Next thing I knew choirs were
Singin'
And butterflies up in
My head
The fields they went on
Forever
And sunshine from who
Knows where
My soul what was left just
Started dancin'
And prayers once just words
Were
......... shooting stars
"You see"
I said "no one is listenin"
That's when I knew
The time had come
For
Me
To
Fly
© All Rights Reserved
he parlayed a condom full of nouns
in bold thrusts of the quill
for the para structuralist cadres
many of them freeway orphans
who won't even read a stoplight
on the other hand
there's a lot of other hand
upon hearing the chimes of midnight
I opened the door
another surprise party
that I knew about all along
arranged by my body building therapist
who was a notorious sadist
requiring humiliation ab astra
went in after my scenario gland
in an act of divine pity
sewed me back up real fast
couldn't handle the pixel rate
the audience shrieked and laughed
it was the great awakening
after the Treaty of Lucky Seven
in which all nations pledged
to honor their accidents and idiocies
as though they were instruments of divination
uh oh here comes my chiropractor
a known mob boss
never found the need to knock
cracked his knuckles at the door
and politely asked may I enter
he spoke 7 languages
and several materialist dialects
and could talk without
moving his lips
many were blamed for
things they never said
a hundred times a day
nothing is uncontained
archaeologists in the city dumps
using a subway map with all the stops
snorted and toiled through Winter
at their historico-revisionist comedy
piecing convex to concave
any idea past its prime is stupid
this is the unfortunate fate of all humanity
nobody really likes change
unless it’s more money
oh I know I’ll never work in this town again
but with a bankroll
the size of a chewed pencil
you get the picture
now buckle up kids
mommy's going to drive a little faster
there's a cop on my ass
and I think I can lose him
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
February is the month that we celebrate our black race,
People from the past who set our pace.
Those who should have been placed in our history book,
But for some reason they were over looked.
Born into slavery or just grew up poor,
But they were determined to accomplish so much more.
First, on our list she was extremely brave,
Harriet Tubman help to free a number of slaves.
She had to come up with a secret move,
So the Underground Railroad is what she used.
Now how do you get rich from products for the hair.
I don’t know, but ask Madam C. J Walker the first black woman millionaire.
Now the 1st black woman aviator was a lady named Bessie Coleman,
And did you know that the stoplight was invented by a black man named Garrett Morgan.
Now hanging in the sports hall of fame,
Jackie Robinson is this baseball player name.
This list goes on and on,
Some are still living, but some has gone home.
There’s one, who truly paved the way,
If not for him, we wouldn’t be where we are today.
He marched from City to state,
And never once did he teach about hate.
The renowned Dr. Martin Luther King,
All of his marches and his well known speech “Let Freedom Ring”.
There’s plenty more that should be in a Hall of Fame.
But there’s not enough time to call them by name.
So let’s stand up and be proud of our race and who we are,
Because from slavery and racism we have come so far.
Written by
Vertie Adams
February 2005
I SAY LIBERATE ME!
free me from a
bondage known all
too well
free me from those
chain-links felt way
too much
free me from a world
that's so out of
touch,even though it
manages to stay in
touch
free me from those
dungeons and allow
me to roam
roam like this
signal on my phone
that's holding me in
captivity with fees
I SAY LIBERATE ME!
liberate me from the
wonderful big
brother who looks
over each and every
one of us
the same big brother
that captures us
rebelling against
the stoplight and
before we can get
down the street and
around the corner
our tag is
photographed,
placing us in line
to receive notice
that a fine has to
be paid,cash,credit,
or debit; however
they can get it
PLEASE BRING ON THE
LIBERATION!
liberation from the
debt that's been
kept on the books
every since I
completed that
credit application,
at the time not
knowing that I was
applying
high-interest rates
to my budget, which
is no longer a
budget but a conduit
for companies having
fun extracting funds
from a paycheck
that's already
heartbreaking to
look at
Liberate me from the
from the
fines,fees,interest-rates,stoplights,nightlights,
the debt acquired
through a
misunderstanding of
APR policies, from
the policies
themselves imposed
by the powers that
be
I say,liberate me
How can a stranger standing at the corner,
leave me breathless, in a trance... I ask you?…
What are the chances, in such a moment,
one brief encounter could change a life?
You were the sunlight, after the rain fell
leaving me defenseless. Makes no sense at all. ..
So, how to explain it? A spell, that is nameless
Nothing will ever be the same
~
How can it be? Can this be really happening?
Or is it just a dream?……
A chance encounter, that fate designed for me?....
But now, I'm floating on a cloud
~
Unlikely strangers, after the thunder,
waiting for traffic, to let us move on
Then came the static, something like magic
flashed to light the afternoon
___
There was a rainbow, on the horizon
rising against the blue, a sign to tell me
Spellbound, I'm flying, ... I'm realizing
suddenly my world is something new!
I've found tomorrow, standing at the corner,
under a stoplight, and after rain fell
There at the crosswalk, lost in crossfire…
Dare I hope you felt it too?
~
Now everyday, we cross paths at the corner, and
I've seen you come, and go …….
I'm left to wonder, do you know?
And could you feel the same way that I do?
What are the chances, someday on that corner
you'll take my hand, and know that it's forever?
With recognition, divine intervention
We'll never walk alone again….... again…………again….
………………………………………………………………..
Lyrics for music written by Kevin Kern "Chance Encounter"
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Y1hDSBlvkU)
Inspired by the contest: "Fun With Lyrics"
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
2/5/18
What have you got to say for yourselves
as I sit here at the stoplight
and watch snow fall on your headstones?
I laugh to think that you could
be so kind, so solicitous,
so full of mirth and merry making
as the rest of us slog our way
through winter while you rest in peace.
Shall I be jealous of your peace?
Not in the least.
I, too, sleep--not in hallowed ground--
but in the sweet repose
of love's hot embers
that burn with endless blessings
of a heart set free.
Shall we dance in the moonlight at dawn?
Shall we clap to the trumpet's chill-blast?
I think we should hope for a circular tune
that we'll all sing together at last.
(Mount Hope Cemetery, located in Upstate New York.)
Like Moses fleeing Egypt
and finding refuge in Midian
I was a stranger in a strange land.
Having fled Chicago in ‘84
I journeyed east to the
unpromised land of Detroit.
8 Mile Road.
“I'm a man
I'm a make a new plan”
Eminem makes and takes the rap
while party stores and strip joints
pockmark the urban warscape.
“Super Lotto” “Beer and Wine”
“Liquor“ “Money Orders”
“We accept Food stamps”
“Girls, Girls, Girls”
9 Mile Road.
Driving north through Ferndale where
the Exiles of Gentrification live,
I was reminded of the sixties
and drag racing
stoplight to stoplight.
3-2-1-green
zero to sixty in three gallons
muscleheads in their muscle cars
dual quads, hemi-heads
bored and stroked, raked and shackled
four on the floor, two in the backseat
Jim Beam in the glove box
and fuzzy dice on the mirror.
Up ahead the Reuther crossed
where once a 10 Mile Road proudly served.
Named for a firebrand labor guy,
the freeway heads east out of Roseville,
veers south through Warren
then north and south again.
Torn up and re-built before it opened,
the 20 year in the making
gerry-meandering freeway
flows west around the Zoo
with a zig through Huntington Woods
and a zag through Lathrup Village.
11 Mile Road and electric
eclectic, engaging Royal Oak;
home of the Star Dream sculpture
Farmer’s Market and all things hip—
Just ask ‘em.
11 and a half Mile Road.
Art deco portico with garish neon,
never washed windows and
a pair of 69.9 a gallon pumps,
“No Gas” “No Gas”
Vinsetta Garage,
a Woodward fixture since prohibition,
is voted Motown’s best car repair
year after year after year.
12 Mile Road.
The National Shrine of the Little Flower,
de-flowered in the 1930’s
by radio Priest Charles Coughlin
whose coast to coast broadcasts
railed against bankers and Jews
and that communist FDR.
Like a journalist trying to find the
Who? What? Where? and why?
Like a little boy peering through a keyhole
I found myself in a Motor City funk
looking more than tasting.
The twittering of the birds singsonged by
As the mum night kissed the new spousal dawn
The daybreak entity by the beadsmen allegiance
Pour forth by the holy water along the river adorn.
Thrown by the kid, the pebble found by the street
To the river, that splashed water
Few drops dripped numbly by the curls so formed
The kid whispered to his ingenuity and smiled by his quiesce voice.
The aroma morning breeze by the garden of blossoms
Felt by the awaken passers, suspired softly by the fresh air
The late city woke up by the quotidian alarm
Tuning the frequency modulation to a baritone cohere.
Rushed along by the streets, horns hooted at the crossing
By the foot, the beggar sang for his solicitation
There by the stoplight the cop whistled to control the traffic
The politician in the ambassador with the siren went by.
Two teenagers spotted to fight on a fallacious note
And the one who passed over, enjoyed with a sarcastic tone
There a group of bunked educatees forgather with a guitar
And played a melodic line that absorbed the whole inclusion.
Lost in the city, the traveler acquainted with strangers
But when asked for his destination, he propelled to be familiar
There by the midst he heard his yell unheard by all
He rhymed his own verse through his journey sung by his own voice.
The twittering of the birds singsonged by
As the midday coerce felt sorry by the sunset jollity
The twilight entity by the soul mate hug and kiss
Enclosed by the memories with the birds nested by the eventide.
Felt by the kid, the numbness of the darkness
To the sound of beetles, that phantomed his thoughts
Few spoke with the silence as they heard the cozy tone
The kid then slumbered by the alloy felt rhythmically to his own.
A cup of ice cream, he invites
A spoonful near my lips to try
Raising his finger to remove
Dots of ice cream that dropped
Blushing with his slightest touch
Hardly trying this to stop
Under my lashes, his eyes sparkle
Then he said, "like the stars, you twinkle"
Slight bubbly exchange of talks
As we proceed happily on our walk
Glancing sideways for sometime
Checking indirectly a clue undenied
On the red stoplight in the street, we halt
Entwining his hand on mine for a hold
Guiding me gently to pass safely on lane
To my home, admiration he exclaims
by:
olive_eloi
8:46 pm
02/17/2014
-------------------------
I know a man who went to the zoo but they wouldn’t let him out,
So hairy was his body that his heritage was called into doubt.
He asked to have a lawyer but none of them would take his case,
None of them thought that he had a prayer after looking him in the face.
“I am not an animal,” he pleaded to them, “I’m just a hairy guy,”
“If you’d only check my DNA you’d know that it’s no lie.”
So a judge ordered that the test be run to see if he was a man,
To confirm once and for all that he belonged to the human clan.
When the results of the test came back and the answer could be seen,
The man was surprised to learn that he carried the grizzly gene.
“Hmm,” he said as he pondered upon his own reflection in the mirror,
This sheds new light on my life and I can see things so much clearer.”
It helps me to understand why it is that when I visit at the park.
I feel the need to scratch my back by rubbing it against tree bark.
And why when I get the urge to eat seafood it always seems to be,
No restaurant ever can serve raw Salmon that’s fresh enough for me.
It explains why when a driver cut me off as he dialed to make a call,
At the next stoplight I pulled him out and devoured him phone and all.
I guess now that I think of it I’ve suspected it for quite some time,
But what can you do if you’re a Grizzly bear? It certainly isn’t a crime.
The court decided that he had a point and that his upbringing was the cause,
So they couldn’t bring themselves to remove him from his teeth and claws.
Even though his violent ways were something that couldn’t be neglected,
There wasn’t much that they could do because his species was protected.
So they tagged his ear and fastened a GPS that utilizes satellite high tech,
And now his wife and kids can track him by the collar around his neck.
You might think that for them this situation might be something terrible,
But they are all adjusting quite well and their lives have become bearable.
My conscious mind was
Shocked when
I realized I was slamming on my brakes.
There are
Three lanes of solid orange lights,
As far as I can see down the interstate.
A wreck most probably.
We began inching our way uphill, pretending to be socialized.
No one can see anything.
Maybe a trucker, but none of us in cars.
The cars at the top of the next hill are not fighting for lanes yet,
So I wonder how far we are going to inch our way toward our destination.
I call four people.
One is my husband.
Find out what’s happening, I tell him.
My GPS went on the blink this week; it won’t be any help.
Three of the people are co-workers.
I ask them for a favor.
All say yes.
One I have gotten out of bed.
Inch. Inch. Inch. Inch. Inch.
One car pulls out of the right hand lane, and drives like a maniac down the emergency lane.
A Mustang.
Go figure.
We inch our way to the top of the hill
I can now see a non-moving ribbon of orange lights.
My husband calls me.
Nothing on the news yet.
No empathy or patience now, I look for my chance.
Aha! A slow car.
I swerve into the right-hand lane, the one I never use.
We inch forward a few more inches.
Suddenly my car pulls a sharp right.
She and I race down the emergency lane,
Like there are hungry cheetahs after us.
I see flashing red and blue lights to my left
As we exit.
High above on the Interstate bridge
We are at a stoplight, facing an Interstate entrance ramp.
The cars going up this ramp are uninhibited; free to fly,
I watch five cars go up the ramp, ahead of me.
I swear at the light for not changing fast enough.
I marvel at the lack of cars as I re-enter the Interstate.
I am so early, I stop and buy gas.
Amazingly, I am the first car at work,
Beating everyone I called.
I love being an impatient risk taker.
.
Blame it all on warm beer
at the stoplight.
The inside of my skull throbs
with the drone of tired traffic.
And windshield wipers whine
with my CD's old rock metallic.
Then, jolting my line of vision,
is a strapping, suspicious cop.
His clipboard and pen, enough
to make my sour hiccup stop.
Blame it all on warm beer
at the stoplight.
.
pleasure i seek without you
pain i get from the thorns of curiosity
when i knock again, your blessing answers the door
i say nothing and leave to take a walk through the woods
i never look back and i quickly forget your name and telephone number
it is then that something in the auspices of suddenness clicks
life has no stoplight and even less mercy
realization can be a light seldom seen
growth i discovered despite you....