Best Taillights Poems
Ice crystals form on a once dusty road
Taillights shining brightly amongst the smoke
The old tall oak bruised but still standing strong
A pickled blackened heart no longer broke
If I were gone tomorrow would she care
Remembering that I was always there
Standing by her side through thick and thin
My everlasting love would never disappear
That distant night she wouldn't believe
My heart was pounding loudly for her
Stabbing those stilettos deep into my heart
Walking out, nevermore would my spirit stir
No amount of liquor could mask the pain
Finally, a dead heart will beat again
**Inspired by Nathan D's Junkie Heaven poem and a few late night texts from a friend drinking at a bar**
I beckon nature to play her Symphony of Spring
when everything comes alive, revived once more.
When resident avian will have a chorus as backup,
perched along limbs and branches of aged oaks,
arrayed in dresses the hue of sage leaf green.
All keen to witness the budding and blooming,
the heavenly scented perfuming of the season
and the reason sweet nectar is temptingly teasin'
to the biggest hive of honeybees I've ever seen.
Willows will soon be sweeping nearer the flowing river,
the giver of life into which their tears fall as they weep.
Their slim limbs will quiver as they touch the ground.
In the distance I'll hear the sound of baby lambs baahing
and the la la laing of children's laughter as they run around
enjoying warmer weather; their cries of joy... unbound.
I'm ready to listen for the wind's soft melodies to play
in the evening as twilight falls at the end of the day.
Some say its then, night critters call in search of a mate
for the fate of their existence depends on the songs
they use to serenade the silvery moon all night long.
They will boldly sing when they take to wing,
always at the command of Nature. At her behest,
never in jest...an idle request when cicada awake
and do their best cricket knee mime to sound like
chimes clinking in rapid rhythm upon magnolia trees.
I'll focus with ears alert and constantly listening
as I sit on my back porch swing, sipping sweet tea.
Gentle rain will have my flower garden glistening.
Frogs will ribbit in sync and fireflies will quickly blink
their taillights like stars hovering near the ground.
I'll love the sound of a loon calling to be romanced,
her seductive chant will be enhanced by the scent
of sweet jasmine blossoms. It's a time when everything
will become a part of the nuance; the beauty of Spring.
I kept the inner workings,
kept the plastic furniture
while it cracked
into multidimensional bones.
I kept (in part),
the whir of its mirroring mind.
Of course, the viewer has dimmed out
nothing in the camera fully develops,
yet images emerge.
I can catch the blurry taillights of stars,
find my way through a long-burnt corn field,
photograph photographs
yet to be imaged.
Sitting on the soft cushion seat
Start of turtle movement
The advert on the bus
Is the only catchy appeal
The drumming of the engine
The grunting of the taxi
Dusk getting crisp
Dull glow of the sun
The glance at the sky
With a wish to fly
The buttocks begin to get sore
I see my finger nails
Then back to the next lane
I feel my eyes burn
A long ribbon of taillights flashing
The next lane is fast moving
Taxi driver snoring
The turtle movement
Develops anxiety
Feeling thirsty
Phone rings
Good news
Another party
Feeling oozy
Glazing outside the window
Another turtle movement
Nerves rest - feet asleep
With an effort
Feet wake up
Anxiety rising - start to walk
There was a moment
in time and space no distance
can erase when she was standing
on an island in the middle
of Times Square, cars whirling around
from all directions, their Technicolor
taillights additive to Big Apple
illuminations, and she,
the conductor of this current
of motion and light thought she
was somewhere over the rainbow,
someplace called Manhattan,
imagined since 7 or 8 or 9 or 10,
a crystal country there, where
some dreams come true
for a small town girl, her byline,
a poet of a faraway island
of no skyline.
a bar door is ajar, only fading voices
echo into the void, from nowhere...and afar!
Here n there, trash drifts
ghosts in flickering neon.
Broken, floating, bloated
dead down eons halls
a last of white.
Crimson taillights roar along
an empty blacktop...
Ruins of ages-lost buildings hang together
like frozen corpses looking
into desolation‘s aftermath.
This boulevard is desolate n oblique
as enigmatic engines park n die
on this macadam late at night.
Carriages lurch, coughs, wheeze
electric spark, circuits churn
something burns.
...unmoored from the known.
Something in death throes
as hollow oblong boxes
glide shakily to a halt.
A vehicle, an unknown thing,
a machine of divine madness
silhouetted against the falling ash of sky.
The smell of burning rubber
a stench of ozone, the cry of the void.
Drift along a wind-swept boulevard
as streetlights wink on
while headlights die
in empty skull sockets, lie...
A white filigreed smoke drifts
as it stalls and hums
sputters and dies.
A drifting murmur of voices drift
whispers of lives lived out swift...
Eyes reflect and dance in the darkness
over a vacant steering wheel!
Light flickers briefly under the hood
deep deathly hums fade.
Only the tick of a cooling engine
echos into the frosty air.
As shadows puddle in endless despair
something stands at the end...
...of desolations boulevard!
Down dusty roads by ways,
Hidden trails spreading wide.
I've been seeking freedoms,
Blazing liberty on the back,
Of my Harley Davidson two,
Wheeling masterpiece.
Along our nations country side.
I'm casting aside social shackles,
To breathe fresh airs exhaust
Fumes,
Loving every moment of it.
Feeling destiny's winds brushing,
Raw bare skin exposed.
To the elements.
Images disappearing from,
Realities rear view mirror,
Igniting a flame within,
America's rambling son,
A drifter gone wild,
Behold a restless spirit,
Eagerly roaming.
Chasing the whims of chance,
Leaving it to fates navigation.
I’ll rest here awhile,
Just observing.
Until destiny's song spurs,
Me forward.
The open road beckons,
Once more I hear it calling.
Pushing the pedal to the metal,
Chromes steel shines.
The distant interstate sign,
States no speed limit ahead.
God's heavenly highway,
Lies beyond this point.
I'll ride on my friend
Humming hymns last refrain,
Blinded by taillights amber glow.
Lord embrace this motorcycle man,
He's lived hard but loved well.
Riding along hells edge,
Heading into,
The last light of the setting sun.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
The Living God has moved on
Jesus in his memory, cherry taillights
Receding down a long desert highway
Jesus’ words were, and still are,
The only true gold
The ones that were actually his
All else is ruse
There is still divine wholeness
The two basic polarities remain
Light/darkness, atonement/isolation,
Order/dissolution, love/hate
That other pole remains a
Polished, tantalizing, well-advertised
Abyss of suffering and decay
As it always was
Echoes of the Word can still be heard
Through the cavernous edifice that bears His name
But two millennia of editing, revising
Using the Word for purposes less than divine
Has reduced it to echoes only
God can be found through His words
Or forever lost through their subversion
Walk like this, talk like this, do it right
Stand up, sit down, fight, fight, fight
If you read him, he was anything but
A conformist tyrant
Don’t believe me?
Just ask a Pharisee
They’re not hard to find
So now riddle me
Why you think dogma and rigidity
Are the pathway to the divine?
To some this will be blasphemy
But not to the Living God
6/16/16
©Thomas W. Quigley
It doesn’t seem like that long ago I was heading to the park
Meet some friends and play until well after dark
It was a special time being young and free
Riding the sliding board or climbing a tree
An innocence searching for a pot of gold
Never dreaming of growing old
I was king of the mountain, on top of the hill
I was Robin Hood and Buffalo Bill
Pony tails and freckles were in style
My heart would race when I’d see her smile
We’d light up a lucky because we were men
Filters were for girls way back then
In the pavilion we’d meet the rest of the crowd
While a transistor radio played music out loud
Sometimes we’d lie in the grass and count the stars
Or look at taillights and identify cars
We’d ride our bicycles home at night
On the handlebars we’d tie a flashlight
We shared our happiness, joys and sorrow
Living for today, not worrying about tomorrow
I’m still king of the mountain and there I’ll stay
Enjoying each moment with each passing day
taillights shine brightly
as motorcycle stops quick
deer crosses the road
Ribbons of silver light
Crimson in amber strings drift ahead of me
Red, Gold, and Green sway absently
As the engine hums into the night
Passing the shop windows of industry
People bustling along the lane
Heads down headed home
From the daily toil
From arcane factories
Or crunch numbers of finance
Horizon a dying ember
Heading into the night
Blinded by silver ribbons
of light and crimson taillights
The wind tumble after me…
We said goodbye two years ago today -
I'll never forget the way I felt that day.
I couldn't breathe when the door closed between us
And your taillights dimmed as you drove away.
I never thought i'd breathe the same again,
As pain took away all my wind -
And i stood there deflated and broken
Refusing to accept the bitter end.
It happened on my best friend's wedding day.
I'll never understand why you did it that way -
I had visions of our wedding as I was standing there
But you ruined that for me and left my heart betrayed.
I never thought i'd get over it, not in a million years.
I cried what seemed a river's worh of tears.
I mourned for you like someone mourns the dead -
It was the realization of all my fears.
But once the salt left my wounds, I realized I was free,
Free from all the emotional torture you gave me.
Free from wondering where you were -
Free from the fragile little girl you made me be.
And I never looked back once you were gone.
I learned how hurt can make you strong,
I learned what a real man should be.
And with that, my old dear lover, so long.
Suburban waste stretches beyond and far away
Languishes under the hot hazy sun
Seasons reap
Memories run
Remembering things better left unseen
Memories reel in the theater on the mind
Things fragmented in frame
Of mental photographs
Faded edges frail
brittle fluttering
Summer rainstorm run the horizons
Lightning lances the rain
Fall is coming, frost is in the eves
Pumpkins gleaming a thrilling sight
Images crystalize by chilly winter nights
Summer comes to burn away the sight
Spring color runs, fades
Autumn rights delays dies
in the passing taillights
Suburban boulevard’s lost
in fog shrouded waste…
Light gleaming, bouncing to and fro
Raybans and Coppertone Sport
Man's best friend ridin' shotgun
Radio cranked...volume 10, what else!
Trunk filled to the brim
Pabst Blue Ribbon gettin' frosty
Scarf a'blowin'
Nothin' but taillights and blue sky
Bends up ahead, straights behind
Worries, off with the wind
Joy, palpable, like the midday sun
Cruisin'
Henry stood his rocky ground
as he watched her board the bus,
Not one time did she look back
but he heard her softly cuss
The cold wind; the hard dirt floor;
their drunken neighbor named Gus;
Then the driver crunched the gears
and took off without a fuss.
Down the road and o'er the rise
like there's nowhere else to go,
The dust rose then settled down,
as if it were falling snow.
Could not hear the engine roar
nor see those taillights glow,
Her face now a memory
bound for Desolation Row.
Turned around to face the breeze
and then ambled down the hill,
Thought about the brand new batch
that was brewing in the still.
Might jus' cut a chunk of beef
and then fire up the grill,
Turn the music way up loud;
eat and drink himself a fill.
He knew he'd be lonely soon,
long before this month was done,
Not much left to do 'round here
without a wife or a gun.
He'll get on that internet
ahead of the rising sun,
"Wives for Sale's a click away";
he'll jus' git another one.