Best Trip Out Poems
When I asked my wife to marry me, ‘neath a golden moon,
I said I could not give her the moon and the stars, but,
“Each special day I will give you a piece of jewelry,” I said,
Then, jokingly, “When I am gone, you can wear your jewels
To the Caribbean and snatch up a younger, wealthy lover.”
I did not think I would survive her, being much older, so,
After she was gone, I opened her jewelry box and found
Her jewels—a lilac amethyst ring, a chartreuse citron pinkie,
An anniversary ring with a precious aquamarine, among others,
And, the coral necklace we found on the island of Barbados.
Born in July under the sign of Cancer, I had longed to find her
A ruby birthstone necklace, scarce and expensive as saffron.
On a road trip out west, we ran across an outlet jewelry store
Having a huge liquidation sale, and there, marked down, I found
Her a crimson ruby solitaire pendant as sparkling as could be.
We came home from Mexico with her oval watermelon pendant,
And a Mexican opal, lemon with a firing of iridescent tangerine,
Which she had carefully wrapped in a exquisite lavender cachet.
She had taken the money her father had given her before he passed
And purchased a beautiful pearl necklace--she wore it only once.
Written April 4, 2021
for "Changing Colors Poetry Contest"
sponsored by Emile Pinet
I find it cautic as the glass separating the sphere from the cloud,
the resignation of all trust avowed,
the interrogation of my soul via a machine,
and it's so not you...
The angle of approach to this future indemnity,
the meaning of life as we do it today-
now don't hesitate,
don't shy away or grab something insane,
you sir are not lying 45 minutes a day,
you don't deny thy find within grind,
you comply!
If it's just co-energize,
no truth deny's,
nothing hides,
say it outside-
right?
Don't despise,
don't characterize,
you'd think the internet Trumped that tonight...
Too many whites,
nor even blacks,
what's that?
Well let's attack...
One is seen,
the other unmade,
you choose,
you can even be the mate...
You can even hide in a great,
stare straight at your future plate,
get close,
get the grate...
Just trip out,
lose your faith.
The song that divides remains,
the long walk alive is strange,
let's get it here now and with a simple witness...
Don't drive,
don't even fly to cry,
don't rhyme,
it's everyone!
Everyone inside!
Say it with me-
kick it later,
it's everyone!
It's in alive!
Yo,
they ARE at the show,
show um,
show um how much you know,
end this riddle with the waltz of the Mountain Goats,
never do they need proof but a pasture where they grope,
sometime's it's O.K to just go home.
But I remembered posing this possible problem to my son Keith, who is in the oil
business and he said that fossil fuel oils were derived from vegetable origins not animal
fossils.. But he didn't specify if it were like radishes, beets, corn or maybe watermelons.
I do have a lot to learn about oil. And knowing you know how serious I can be
about my writings I guess I had better stop for now and go to the library for more
information. Maybe one day I will be able to give you the answers to the questions I have
posed in my writing today.
By the way our trip to Douglas was to no avail. When we got there it was during
lunch hour and no one was in the office. We went and had our lunch and fiddled around until
about two forty-five. Again our trip out there proved useless. There was a sign in the
window they would be back at four o'clock. It wasn't quite three so we just pulled over under
a tree and waited them out. Or so we though. At four ten they still had not shown up so we
returned to Casper. As I was just writing these last few lines I dawned on me it didn't say if
they meant four AM or four PM. Well next week I my be going alone to see about these
fittings. If so I won't be able to enjoy natures beauty. And ...I hope I don't have any vehicle
problems either.
walkway to the stars
kaleidoscope nebula
milky way beckons
by Carol Fillmore
for Rick Parise's contest: Haiku Beyond (Nature Only)
I never even drove till I was maybe twenty-five,
but then I learned, and so we bought a car for me to drive.
For fifteen hundred dollars, I got a crap sports car
with color kind of pink. That Monza never got me far!
Its brand I think was obsolete; I can't recall its look.
All that I recall was all my money that it took.
About a month I had it till our whole small family
used that car to take a Christmas trip out of the city.
So headed for the south we left, and yet we had no clue. . . .
Not even halfway out of our own state, the engine blew.
We had to pay to tow it home, and I cannot recall
If we later took our truck to make that trip at all!
Fixing it was not worthwhile. The engine block was shot.
Thanks to that, I got a blue Camaro, used but HOT!
And so the life of my first car, once I got it home,
was just about as lengthy as the lines of this short poem.
For Paula Swanson's "Driving Me Crazy" Contest
PLAYIN' CATCH
Mom and Dad would have the car packed the night before we left,
the station wagon filled with all the essentials we'd need for our
extended camping trips. Dad always made sure I had my ball glove
ready for rest stop breaks. This was my favorite anticipated time of
the trip!... when we would stop, Dad would tell me to grab my glove,
but I was already out the door, lookin' for a clear stretch of grass to
throw with him. Dad had the same glove all through the years, an
old, beat up version that didn't have much padding. I used whatever
glove I was currently using for the team I was playing on, either
a present from him, or a gift, sometimes from a coach. Dad wanted
me to start throwin' easy, as his eyesight wasn't all that sharp, and
he needed to limber-up first, and focus on the 'heat!' I was tossin'.
I remember he would always encourage and compliment me on my
improvement since the last time we threw!. Our trip out west, "Custer's
Last Stand"...Yellowstone National Park".... our trips to "Itasca State Park"
and "Tettegouche State Park" always settin' aside time to "play-catch".
In time, Dad couldn't follow the thrown ball very good, and I remember
when he told me he couldn't "play-catch" any more; by then I was
playin' varsity ball in high school, and Dad would come watch me play.
I always still brought his old glove and favorite 'rubber-coated' baseball
along on outings, so he wouldn't think I didn't remember he was
still my hero, whether he could throw or not. I treasure those moments
now, and always try to 'play-catch' with the little cousins of mine,
encourage and compliment them on their improvement,
.......since the last time we 'played-catch'
l
After the ware house we decided to
seperate for a week or two
I grabbed a brew down on Girard
avenue
thats right where you can still see
the ghost tormenting all but the so-called
sinners.
My trip out of town will be a different
kind of assembly, a couple of sharp shooters
we found dabbling at the range
we pay them to watch our back from the
roof as I make my transaction.
Sorry the stun guns retired for now
may not even have to use these ones I got
Better safe than sorry.
I love Tiffany but their not in season
right now
not like gold or rear coins
not like some rear dinosaur bones off
the coast of Australia.
I f I could find that rear specie I'd
retire as young as I am and move to England.
To Be Continued....
Sometimes I trip out when I think about the crazy stuff we did as kids. It makes me sad to know we won't ever be able to share new memories as adults and grow.
When I talk to you, it's like I am talking to a wall. Nothing penetrates your soul and that kills me to know. I feel as though I lost the only brother I had to an invisible monster. I sit and wonder who am I to ever feel defeated;when I know the old you is somewhere in your brain cell constantly taking a beating.
In micro moments you probably feel him, but that monster won't let the real you back in long enough to reveal him. To be locked out of your body and imprisoned in your brain. The things I bet you think, and to know you feel like nobody knows your pain.
I'm sad I can't be around this new you with much ease, and honestly it's because I know that monster laughs as the old you cowards at his knees. Taunting you while you are begging to be free, just to feel the way you once did with your friends and family.
Damn I wish we were kids, wish we could rewind and go back to the very day that monster started renting your time. I love you brother, you are always on my mind.
.
The fire burned warm and brightly,
As the little band of wagons were gathered close and their animals were
tethered tightly.
The ladies sat about preparing meals for the coming day,
While the men folk took on chores there wasn’t nary time for play.
Scouts were still out and their water was getting low,
Restricting their selves was the only way to go.
The wagon boss was talking on changing their course,
Said things ain’t looking good, best we prepare for the worse.
He said I know another way but it’ll be harder at first.
But about a weeks ride south there’ll be plenty of water to fill our thirst.
Bright and early next morn the little train pulled out,
Changing its direction added miles there was no doubt.
As they slowly plodded on the desert took on a new look,
But the sun still shone brightly in the day they all cooked.
The third day in the scout came riding up,
Said it’s a good thing ya’ll changed directions as he reached for the cup.
He said the last three water holes were only sporting dust,
Real early next morning the old scout lit out said he’d find water for it was a
must.
He strapped a couple of small kegs on an ole pack mule,
Took along a shovel in cased he’d need a tool.
Less than a day out he was taken by surprise,
Found an old dry creek bed that had just been on a rise.
There stood a solid rock basin as full as it could be,
He plopped down and drank his fill then rested for a moment by an old
mesquite tree.
He filled up the little kegs then he headed on back,
When he caught up with the train he told of the water and said there were all
kinds of animal tracks.
Next day they made it there to this little glory hole,
And rested up for a few days and then took off to their destined goal.
You just hope for the best,
And make sure your guide knows the way west.
There is no guarantees whether you make it or not,
The trip out west you’re either wet and freezing or you’re dirty and hot.
Sitting out on the veranda sipping chilled wine
Under the fading sun of another glorious day.
Making plans for another trip out into the
Mountains for a sumptuous meal with friends,
Excited by the prospect that we all will
Return again for another visit one day.
© Dave Timperley October 2014.
No matter where I wander
Home is the other way.
Whoever pushes me
Always has a lot to say.
I am just a trolley, no brain, to resist
So why is it that I act as though !?!!
As I have been drinking.
Card around my handle says
Oil me please, for I have sinned.
Last trip out hit the litter bin.
03/03/2013
Read About this Poem
My mind is spinning as I am reminded
by a buzz word of 2020 that is dropped every
minute by the news media of sorts,
it is 'Coronavirus' embedded in my brain,
at night I dream about it and feel insane.
I'm singing the Coronavirus Blues.
Broadway and its lights are shut down,
sports venues closed their gates until fall,
visiting love ones in nursing homes is taboo,
colleges and schools are sitting empty,
communities turn into ghost towns aplenty.
I'm singing the Coronavirus Blues.
Uncle Bill and Aunt Rosie are stuck on a cruise ship,
floating what seems a perpetual trip out to sea,
confined in their stateroom and feeling quite sick,
waiting forever to step foot on solid ground,
recalling the Titanic and the passengers drowned.
I'm singing the Coronavirus Blues.
Shelves in stores are stripped bare naked,
cleaning supplies and toilet paper are hoarded,
sold on street corners by scalpers for more,
people are frantic and turn into germaphobics,
gyms are replaced by tapes of aerobics.
I'm singing the Coronavirus Blues.
Afraid to leave the house and step outside,
praying this virus will disappear like bad weather,
finding a vaccine to cure this nightmare,
will make my dreams free of the virus,
replaced with thoughts which are more desirous.
Written: 3/13/20
Contest: Quarantine
Sponsor: Julie Leigh Rodheaver
While your walking around the world
In your own world
Looking up to the clouds
Let them hypnotize you
Watching time move into different shapes and forms
Watching them
You become them
Your energy transfers into the clouds and vise versa
Slowly floating into space
Space is space
Is that really simple of a name for such a mind bending world?
It's another level for a world
People like to think they know it all
Their not going to know what hit them
I wonder how its all going to end?
Hundreds, thousands, millions of pennants and animals running in fear
Right at that moment nothing has any meaning anymore
But the realness trying to fight it's way from the terror
The questions always 'why'
Why can't the answer just be
'because it just is'
Technically its not lying
Humans have to be curious about every damn thing
Didn't curiosity kill the cat?
(What does that even mean? Why a cat? Can't it kill anything?)
Humans are still like children
Always on the go
Won't ever be satisfied with one answer
IS it actually written in stone that humans are the superior race?
Ego trip; out of whack
Will it ever stop?
Sofia’s love was like a viking as she tore apart
She grappled with her demons as she swept each basking heart
A gangster fairy tale betrothed upon her arm
A fleeting evening and a trip out of the dark
Four hundred dollar bills as token of your love
The glamour and the fame; the glitter and the game
If one could bear the grime and snare
Of the homestead that she came to bare
You would still pay for her charm
The Guilt Trip
When I was young I had bad acne & would often skip school
Every time I looked in the mirror I would always see someone ugly
Sadness broke my heart in two then the loneliness set in
Now where do I even begin to think that it wasn't me
The accuser of the brethren struck me deep to the heart that would light
A flame that would stir inside the fragile imagination of my brain
With tempers of fire through family & friends
Shelter lies dormant amidst it's beckoning plow
Shadows plunged in mere desolation getting lost
On a trip on some far away vacation prone to desolation
Perhaps this was how Kurt Cobain felt before he ended it all
Satan has a way of disguising some bad by presenting it as being good
Another day in the hood falling for the guilt trip out of step
Now you will do as you are told until the rights to you are sold
One day I would soar like an eagle to the land of never more
The next I would run off to help settle an even score
When the devil is knocking at your heart's door have Jesus open the other side
We have no good reason by which to run away and hide cause
In the end we overcame Satan by the blood of the lamb you all understand
There is a single line being drawn in the sand let's cooperate with the plan
God's love for us is the eternal constant amidst the insecurities of your daily walk with him !