Best Wheelers Poems
OK, maybe he is right. Maybe a cowboy he's not. He is a mechanic, a
pediatrician, an obstetrician, a veterinary, a plumber (wells), a house keeper
(stalls), a blacksmith, a dietician, a truck driver, a farmer (crops), a carpenter
(corrals and maternity wards), a construction worker, a landscaper (fencing), a
teacher, a road grader (keeps roads oven year round), a hunter (hunts stray
critters), a trapper (beavers to keep our water ways open and skunks to keep our
sinuses working), a cowboy (cattle work), a welder, a rancher, a ranch hand, a
cowhand and a_______ I give, I give. He is a Jack of all Trades, but since his
name is Billy I can’t go around calling him Jack, so he will always be my cowboy
to me. P. S. he is definitely not a modern cowboy. No three wheelers, no
pickups, no motorcycles. He did his cattle work by horseback.
alone inside with me, less than inspirational
so look out for the more interesting folk
momentary excitement, the fiery motivational
beyond the familiar, to stoke and provoke
daydream departure from mundane conversational
adventures cocooned in my warm cosy cloak
cool charismatic characters, charming skills to admire
the wily wheelers, the dubious dealers
the mighty movers, the shuffling shakers, to these I aspire
delvers of science, the body-mind healers
frisky purveyors of seduction spray fuel to the fire
risky game chancers, the common sense stealers
suspenders of disbelief, poetic weavers of word
jovial jugglers of juxtaposition
addicted acquisitors, spinners shifting the absurd
fabulous fakers, deceptive magician
image presenters, dark or backlit, focused or blurred
sculptors of form, instrumental musician
composers of melody, glorious singers of song
whatever the stage, great performers of art
athletic achievers stretching stubbornly strong
rhythmic dynamo dancers moving close or apart
food-feeding salivators, their tasty pleasures prolong
delightful set dishes or delicious a la carte
whether imbibed on its own or in good company enjoyed
the brewer, the vintner, the masters of malt
innovative designers, architects of structure and void
the philosopher's stone, comfort-zone assault
insightful free thinkers, long-held paradigms destroyed
tall storytelling teachers without fear of fault
mathematical manipulators of numbers and code
quantum diving or high-flying to the stars
engineering fabricators, tunnel, bridge, rail and road
crazy drivers and loop-turning avatars
tinkering technicians, ecologists with wisdom bestowed
planners of protest, the remover of scars
inspirational givers, those with just the skill of their bent
empathy crossing over to be by your side
the meek, the afflicted, those who can ill-afford the rent
the refugee fleer from our wars worldwide
safety seekers, brave rational people with lives to augment
as we build indifferent walls... hope denied!
Ladies, if you marry a sportsman that loves the outdoors be ready for some beautiful gifts
On your birthday, a new rifle or fishing pole, how about a bass boat or four-wheeler on your anniversary
Ladies gets smart! Don't wait until you have seven rifles, three shotguns, two bass boats, and two four-wheelers, a Jeep and a canoe
If you want a Coach or Dooney and Burke, new dress, or perfume go out and buy them a month before Christmas, birthdays, Easter, Valentines, and etc.
Show them to your hubby, give him a big hug and kiss for it thank him for the nice thoughtful gifts!
10/30/2014
Two wheeled commuters with heads booted with helmets, dotted the highway;
The four wheeled rich hooted at pedestrians daring to cross their path,
While rental three wheelers heated them all, filling even places like foot path;
Traffic winked red, green, and yellow to jam, trim, and brim the highway.
Like water discharged from flooded reservoir, humanity flowed on the highway,
Down to their destined ends, discharging spray and smoke, littering its path
With fed up lives, held up to the grave; lawmakers floated on the crest of the path.
Only the hapless found themselves fighting for space in the helpless highway.
On this highway, at the peak hour, popped up a human head as if cropped
From the ripe body as a yield to the reapers blooding the streets with sickles;
The highway halted; heads craned above wheeled carriers; questions hurried
Everywhere with worries and wonders; “Hyderabad has a head chopped;
Is it for ‘Biriyani’?” Some quickly tweeted like men of booze oozing for pickles;
Cops looking for the lost head, severed by train, at last sighed, with heads retrieved.
[Cops in Hyderabad, India retrieved a severed head from a railway track, put the torso and head in a sack and took it to hospital for postmortem. But on the way, the head slipped down from the sack and caused a commotion]
For some reason
I really like to drive,
and ever since I was sixteen,
when I get behind the wheel
feel free and alive...
Only once had an accident
when I was seventeen,
pulling out too fast of the driveway,
into my parents car I careened,
thank God it was minor damage
and my Dad was able to pop
the dent out with a hammer,
got a stern look and talking to
but kept me out of the slammer,
Have driven some Dodges and Chevy
cars in the past, but lately drive
a Ford Focus because its
much better on the gas...
Have driven in about all of the
states on the east coast,
and when I go once a year
to visit some family
its destination L.I., New York,
Out west have driven through
Texas, Oklahoma, Arizona
and even California,
reason being my husband
back then went to a school
called UTI in Phoenix, Arizona...
Probably the most traveled
interstate in the east being I-75 and I-24,
which is one of the biggest
trucking routes that I know of by far,
and I truly admire truck drivers
driving their 18 wheelers
up and down the highways and interstates,
they just scare me a bit
when they get too close,
driving as if my car was
truck driver bait...
I even thought once about
becoming a truck driver
but that was a fleeting idea
that lost most of its appeal,
because the more I thought of it
wouldn't really like that career,
especially since they're all
probably pretty heavy from
constantly being behind the wheel,
and when I stop at those truck stops
I can't help but notice,
that the truck drivers not only
buy toothpaste for their teeth,
but also preparation H
for their hemorrhoids...
My son and I just came home
from Chattanooga, Tenn.,
and thank God we both
arrived home safely and in one piece,
because even though I love to drive
can't understand why people
fly by me doing 80 like in an emergency,
unless someone in the car
has to use a restroom or
is about to deliver a baby...
and lately when I drive
around Moccasin Bend
feel a little more on edge
and on the offensive,
because its like driving on the autobahn
or being in the Indy 500!
Remember, don't text and drive because you want to arrive alive…:)
P.S. Happy 60th Birthday Interstate System!
The city, your life is celebrating
the Durga Puja festival today.
Fencing four wheelers and busses ...
A glimpse of the brightest moonlight
'Tilottoma' is there, but
you are not Sunanda.
Looking back once again
on every street corner
has become my old habit now !
This is the great Asthami Puja's night.
This is the time when
the up Bongaon local train departs
leaving the ocean of people behind.
At the insistence of three prostitutes,
three young men hurries and put them
into empty train compartments.
Sunanda, this city has none except you,
who can rule the youth.
There is neither love, no affection
nor the discipline enough.
You know the biggest fear !
They are loosing principles,
there is no fear in their mind.
You please stay Sunanda
as only you can touch the fire.
Take this society in your unique
shape of heart.
Take the pollution on life.
Shelter the orphan childhood
from shallow soil of the river Ganges.
Even in the eyes of a wood-louse
lightning is still there.
You please return Sunanda,
I want to be sure and certain
in the next rally this time.
Hot Child In The Urban Summer Dwelling
A Poem by Debbie_Philly
" Poem about the heat in the city ....;) "
Hot Child In the Summer Urban Dwelling
The city streets are buckling under the sticky smoldering heat.
Urban life at this moment can be so draining while tensions are
high. People stop,wipe the sweat from their brow as they attempt
to inhale and breathe. "Hey I heard that wheeze from across the street Tony".
Heat choking the life out of us like a looming marauding monster.
Beads drip from angry faces while tempers flare, sirens roar in a city
of despair. Yes Will Smith's song "Summer Time" and the spark of
nostalgia from BBQ's help but its still Spring.
If you have the money you can take a drive down the Jersey shore
or to the Poconos cooling peaks.
A place to breath without choking pollution, heat advisory's and the smells of
unidentified unknown origins. Don't get me wrong there are allot of redeeming
qualities of summer in the city too.
Dinning alfresco, summer concerts, water ice, open fire plugs, Mister Softy
and block parties. Small reliefs of the constant three wheelers screeching
down the Blvd, fighting neighbors, and relentless dripping humidity.
As they say here on the east coast "If it weren't for the humidity I
wouldn't mind the heat". Sure you wouldn't ( wink)
Windows opened as the baby across the alley way cries and the guy
next door yells at his girlfriend while she fires back screaming
like a fish wife. The poor are getting their relief from a rubber hose
spraying water and the rich are relaxing in the Hamptons. Well I guess
if I had it like that I would enjoy it as well, then again I more
likely would open a home for battered women and children, build the
pool there. **** how I wish I had it like that.
I suppose theres no sense in complaining about the heat, just write
it out the best way I know how to deal. So excuse me while I leave
you now to step onto cool tiles of the tub, turn on the crystal clear
water and wash the clammy sticky heat down the drain. Into the Delaware
river of redemption as I take my sixth shower of the day (wink) .
By : Debbie Mills Kelly
I've traversed Kansas more times than I care to remember,
In the searin' heat of August and the chilly cold of December.
I suppose the Kansas Tourism folks would disagree with me,
But bless my soul - there just ain't all that much to see!
The roads stretch interminably - towns are few and far between.
To stay alert I slurp numerous cups of rancid, vile caffeine.
There ain't nothin' but nothin' along the monotonous route.
Will this agony ever end? The pointless question is moot!
Crestin' a rare hill and stretchin' ahead arrow straight,
Are endless miles and miles of shimmerin' interstate.
I even welcome my spouse's idle prattle to keep me alert,
As eighteen-wheelers and the road crews I try to avert!
There's lots of sunflowers but a definite paucity of trees.
Praise be for air conditionin' - outside 'tis ninety-nine degrees!
I do spot some cows, goats, sheep and Poland China hogs,
And a sign touts a place to see rattlesnakes and prairie dogs!
We whiz past places like Russell, WaKeeney and Kanorado.
At last we cross the line to my colorful state of Colorado!
I'm sure Kansas ain't all desolation - that I would not imply,
But next time we have occasion to head east, I think we'll fly!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Memories of childhood.
I weep hidden among the shadows of my stained glass window.
I long for the scent of magnolis when the wind blows.
Sunrise over plantations casting shadows,
under the old oak trees,
with dangling moss, as the winds toss,
the echoes of children's voices through the air.
Dream! Do you dare?
Screened in porches, wooden rocking chairs.
The scent of jasmine blowing through the air.
Sleep my weeping willow.
Moonlight beams through my stained glass window.
Louisiana, where it never snows,
barefoot children and old dirt roads.
Mississippi River paddle wheelers, swampland, cattails, and strawberry fields.
Listening to calls of whippoorwills.
The hot humid bayou of Louisiana, I wish for the days when I was a child.
Ladies and gentlemen, southern beauty smiles.
Swampland for miles.
Mardi Gras krewes made their way down St. Charles Avenue.
Crowds of people pushed to get view.
The smell of cigars, cigarettes, sweat, bourbon, and beer.
Tons of people spread Mardi Gras cheer.
Sounds of musicians on Bourbon Street.
Woodpeckers pecking a rhythm of beats.
Harmonicas echoing late in the night.
A place where at dusk mosquitoes bite.
Water moccassins lurk in summertime.
Backyard barbeque and strawberry wine.
Early risers over beignets, and walks along the river banks,
underneath the cypress tress, a cool perfumed wistera breeze.
And though I weep in the silence of my soul,
with memories of yesterday along the railroad.
Vanessa throws the shot put, track,
In the F34 classification, wheelchairs,
And is a wheelchair racing coach,
For English Athletics, also an activist.
Whilst doing the job she received a call,
From Alison O’Riordan a throwing coach,
Just after she’d survived a breakdown,
And having deteriorated considerably.
Vanessa suffers from the condition,
Described as Ehlers Danlos Syndrome,
And also abnormally postured Dystonia,
Such that she’s now in a wheelchair.
But Alison’s text was bold yet friendly,
“When are you coming out to have
a throw Nessa?” because Alison here,
Believed she could teach Vanessa all.
Vanessa had only joined the club,
Of Haringey Wheelers to get fitter,
And also so to improve her health,
But not to land feet down in Rio city!
Born on June 20th in the year 1977,
Vanessa now studies hard at university,
At the University of East London, UEL,
Examining sport and exercise science.
She hopes to follow on with a masters,
Or maybe even a longer PhD, loves talk,
Which she didn’t have the chance to do,
When she was younger, a young adult.
Should you decide to stay in a hotel that is somewhat off the shelf,
Is quaint, a hundred years old but costs a reasonable amount of pelf,
The Steam Train Hotel is yer place in the town of Antonito, Colorado!
Guests have included my spouse and me and the occasional desperado!
There are few amenities and only eight rooms, all on the second floor.
'Tis a family operation and you are given a key to the hotel's entry door!
After they check you in, they head for home, available only by phone!
Baffled guests from thence are pretty much left to paddle on their own!
You enter a long, creepy hall and the floor creaks with each step taken!
(This was gonna be a thrillin' venture, of that there was no mistakin'!)
Antiques adorn each room and various geegaws are hangin' on the wall.
(I keep an eye peeled for fearsome ghosts and this casts a murky pall!)
U.S. Highway 265 passes right in front of the hotel addin' to my plight!
Convoys of infernal eighteen-wheelers keep me awake throughout the night!
There ain't no air conditionin' and it is hotter than you know where!
How I yearned for mornin' and salvation from my miserable despair!
The sun shone through the window revealin' a beautiful October morn!
We later boarded the Rio Grande steamer to begin our railway bourne!
Peerin' back at the hotel I thought it might've been haunted by spooky hosts,
But I reckon that it is probably too hot and noisy for even finicky ghosts!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Above average temperatures
No sleigh bells jingling
Santa, get the four wheelers!
We've all had them at one time or another.
Exciting career, fabulous home, or maybe something other.
As children, girls playing dress up may become a model.
Boys on their three wheelers learn that racers do not doddle.
Having dreams stimulate the imagination.
Everyone has their own secret fascination.
In today's fast-paced society most people have forgotten about their dreams.
So to them everything is exactly as it seems.
It is amazing sometimes looking back at some of the dreams we've had.
And those of us who've realized theirs must be extremely glad.
Dreams can range from the simple to the magical.
Nothing is off limits - be creative and fanciful.
I did not know back then that my passion was poetry.
Sometimes there are so many words inside insisting to be set free.
Don't give up on your dreams - no matter however long it takes.
Whether your dreams drive you up to the mountains or even through the lakes.
A number of tasks to handle,
and not even a space left to enjoy,
as the work needs to be completed,
as fast as it can be done,
in spite of the hard work,
we do daily,
we do need some respite,
and these could be done,
in a number of ways,
by walking,
or jogging
or by watching television,
or by watching films,
in the multiplexes,
those which lie in every nook and corner of the street,
but some derive pleasure,
through travelling,
others by travelling through the forests,
accompanied by a special companion,
some large and some small,
known as the camera,
taking a step at a time,
as silently as possible,
as to not to wake up the wild living in here,
by capturing the photos of these lovely creatures,
living in here,
some of the these wonderful creatures are seen,
roaming as freely as possible in the wild,
look how carefree they are,
but their ears are opened quite wide,
to heed for any danger,
heading their way,
it’s time for me to return home,
from the wild,
as it is time for me to deliver,
these photos to my manager,
as this has been my job,
for which I do get paid for,
to look after my family,
I do need to hurry,
as I do not travel by four wheelers,
or two wheelers,
as the pollution created by these,
could endanger the wild living in here,
I do travel far and wide,
with my bicycle,
for all the work I do,
and I do not mind this,
as my love for the wild,
exceeds boundaries forever!!
From:-Mr. Manu Nair.
Cardboard box compassion,
canned love with a cadaver expiration date
Sub-contract the morgue delivery,
charge a mob fee that’s double the going vig rate
Profit from scapegoating the poor —
Brand X the Depression Era entitlement hate
Legislative death cargo transported,
collect a toll fee that’ll be triple the gouge rebate
Cubic Interstate road numbers
with a devil design ...
dark Transformer souls cast asunder
Route 66: a six-finger sign —
motorcade truck convoy plunder
Screaming eighteen wheelers
rolling over poverty pavement: cement blocks six-feet under
Shipping tax subsidies to the rich,
giving them nothing but the best of the best
Sending slashed welfare to the poor,
we receive only the worst of the crop rejects
Taste the tainted meat,
swallow the spoiled dairy
Dump down dignity deprived mouths
Gov’ment-approved dietary sewer —
rich grifter liquidity from piss poor stewards
Good Shepherd Jesus
fed the hungry poor faithful flock
with golden honey poured from the Rock
Bad Gov’ment hussy Jezebel
sour breast feed maggot milk
to bloated baby bodies that ghetto dwell
Being born Black Bottom dirt poor
in a harvest rich Egypt is so famine pyramid living dead
Federal Pharaoh money bow indoctrination says
it’s a raw propaganda feast for your malnourished head
Eat the putrid flesh,
drink the rancid dairy
Dump down dignity starved throats
Death-approved nutritional sewer —
rich excrement policies
from Capitol dunghill poor stewards