Careering Poems | Examples

GAPS PERVADING

I have an awful memory. It's sad.
Seemingly destroyed by that madman
Who, sixty-one years ago, pulled out
Without looking,and crashed into my car
Sending mine careering towards death.
Ha! I've got news for him, wherever,
I survived! 


But you robbed me of some dreams!
Dreams that, like all memories, are passive
And cannot be completely lived again.
But it is the words... sixty-one years !
Who would have thought there'd be so many?


Amongst them, through the gaps pervading,
Are gems: Memories to be grateful for.
The tin box of silver thrupences
I hid beneath a floorboard in 1952!
Did anyone find it? Or did they rain
Down upon heads of demolition men
Like angel's tears at all destruction:
At things that should have aged and died
Naturally, in the most usual and intended way.
Gone tomorrow but here today.

 

 

© Allen Ansell 2024

The Train

Each is a piece, a small part
of a composite that has come
together in a morning,
the frayed strands of dreams 
knitted into a waking timed now
to a slow tread on a familiar street. 
Then suddenly, careering through 
the center of my thoughts a train 
comes with bells at a crossing 
clanging loudly and wheels grinding 
on rails heading off towards
a distant point in the past. I stop

and see myself, late teens, 
leaving home, riding the interstate 
with dreams spilling out 
of a duffle bag, head in a cloud
of hope. I was Rimbaud on rails, 
high on poetry that I took straight. 
Six months in a one room flat
I ran out of money and a literary career,
hitchhiked back home to sink
into a wintery despair.

A lifetime has passed 
and I have left a poem tied 
to the end of each year as if
marking my way. The words
of most have now weathered away
to a silence. I write as a form
of prayer to that greater silence
and on still mornings, hear
the sound of a train in the far
distance growing quieter.

Airliner In Storm Is Not Doing Well

Airliner in the storm is not doing well
Pilot is having difficulty keeping it in the air
Tossing and turning, careering with each stormy swell

Stewardess do not tip us off, issuing us all kinds of care
Each one squelching their own internal light for our sake
My eyes are fixated on the dark clouds that appear with a glare

747 gives a quiver, a drop, and at last a shiver and shake.
Sky marshal holds onto the seat until his knuckles are white
There is a loud boom that sounds like an earthquake.

I wonder if we will make it safely or be a plane crash sight.
Others are praying, phones put away, rosary beads on their laps
I swear I see a halo around an old lady’s head and it is bright.

Suddenly there is a clap, no a series of loud angry claps.
In succession, bam, bang, bam, bang, bam, bang, bam.
The plane begins a descent and we all hear familiar flaps.

Thunder envelops us in series of freezing cold wraps
Airliner in the storm is not doing well
Others are praying, phones put away, rosary beads on their laps
Tossing and turning, careering with each stormy swell

Inklings Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh

Winters Cold Fist

A tempest night sky presses, my lattice windows shake, 
as if someone’s being thrown against them, or worse yet,
a yeti's breaking in. They lock with little levers that seem far 
too flimsy to keep out the prying fingers of turbulence.

We watched a man plodding outside - obviously a student from Alaska. 
He was talking on his phone, his breath a continuous, cold white cloud. 
He slipped, careering drunkenly but managed to stay upright by 
assuming a surfer-like crouch. 
“Where do you think HE’s going?” Lisa wondered.

Forget fall’s polite, amuse-bouche of chill, we’ve been smacked, 
full frontally assaulted by the gigantic, cold-fist of winter. “Go on,” 
I said, to the weather gods last fall, like an unlucky gambler on a 
losing streak. “hit me!” 

Now I’m searching Amazon for “flannel underwear”.

To Grasp a Reason

Careering headlong through an era of his mind
he needs to revisit his vision of that time
forgetting life there could often be a grind,
careering headlong through an era of his mind
where folk would not comprehend some oh so blind
that criminals were not alone committing crime,
careering headlong through an era of his mind
he needs to revisit his vision of that time.

© Harry J horsman 2018

Backwash

The backwash reflection
sent waves seawards
to crash headlong
into the oncoming waves
sending swash and spray skywards.
It was fun to go careering out 
and ride the surge, and get upshot
as the two waves met and banged together.
The afterglow of backwash aftereffect
was exhilarating that afternoon.

I Begin To Fly

I step up 
the open door awaits
sights appear in front 
canvassed blue is what I see..

Into it .. I jump..

and drop 
spearing
spiraling 
careering
head first 
into the unknown
trekking down 
at blistering speeds

Where I wake up..

and spread my arms, 
birthing wings
with sturdy legs 

as my quest begins

and I am full of wonder..
for the moment comes,
the clock ticks,
and like a bird,
I begin to fly.

Chaos On the Causeway

A catastrophic collision
Caused by two careering cars 
Created chaos on the causeway 
Crumpling chrome and carbon parts

The chime of crunching metal
The clash of clanging swords
The scream of screeching rubber
Echoed through the mountains gorge

Two opposing forces 
Starting distance equal breadth
Sped head long into the canyon
Meeting chaos causing death

Because of You

There was a time
I thought
the world and me 
to be
too grown up for strong emotions.
I scorned all thoughts to do with love,
and, embarrassed, blinked back tears 
at children singing Silent Night.
But then, 
by chance, 
you came along. 
You, a woman who, 
for some reason, perhaps induced in part
by my own advancing years,
inspired a lust for honesty that had me,
hard and safe and certain me,
careering down love’s alpine road 
in that fearless angel gear
the grandest lives are lived in.
You loosed forgotten feelings
long lost and buried
beneath the life I’d lived.
Revived now by the tremble in my chest
of breath inhaled from near your kiss
and unashamed when tears well up
at innocence of children’s choirs,
I have been made by you a man
far better than the one you found.
Then why, for basking in your love's warmth
carefully, caringly, passionately given,
love I could never properly return,
do you still gift to me
your scones with jam and cream?

Redecorating

These walls are gathering together, closing with damp farewell embraces. 
The yawns of previous occupants echo through linoleum: my home of all places.

Visitors come and go, footprints on concrete pathways smoothed over by later settlers.
Redecorating the past has never been so easy! The wind carries whispers of meddlers

But that’s easily solved; double glazing for the coming winter of discontent.
Yet still no snow falls for these ghosts. The fireplace has changed; it’s been bent,

Replastered and stoked and ready for the fuel of future memories not yet made.
Still the ceilings creak inwards, the weight of countless children who played

By careering down hallways; Old clocks ticking. Shop-bought curtains are drawn 
On the sunsets of men, forgotten are we all in the flick of a signature pen,

Contracted to paint another’s elapsed timeframe. Perhaps a new extension, dear?

Tickle Trout

In the cool of the evening he laid there basking 
as my fingers touched the gleaming surface of the pool.
Deeper i penetrated till my hand was beneath him,
slowly my fingers engaged his slithery belly,
then gently with a slight single movement
to and thro, then up and down 
his whole body fully relaxed as he rolled a little
to accommodate me.
As he laid there his eye and my eyes connected
each of us wondering no doubt what the next move would be,
while carefully not to let my nose which was just above the surface
play any part in this my devious quest.
Suddenly a water skater bug came floating by
and decided to explore my nostril,
at this point making me sneeze, the force of the blast
sending the bug careering upon the surface.
In a flash swallowed by my impending supper
who then scurried away to the safety
of the rocky bed of the creek,
to become King Trout for another day.

  © Harry J Horsman 2011

A Dogs Life

It really is quite tiring, lying in the sun,
looking out for danger, protecting everyone,

All the time pretending that I don't even care
I'm sniffing out the undergrowth, to see what's lurking there,

Chasing after next door's cat can be extremely funny,
but I much prefer to find a patch of warm grass when it's sunny,

I sleep with one eye open, I am constantly on guard,
while noisy human puppies go careering round the yard,

Sometimes I'll do a trick or two, to keep my humans happy,
but when it comes to dinner time they better make it snappy!

I know it's just a dogs life, but I say, without conceit,
there's more to being man's best friend than to play or sleep or eat!

Norbert Wiener's World!

For all university, very spiritual and sensitive,
For all cybernetical, beautiful, fine, aesthetical,
Thank you, my dear technical support
And friendship in the free and jolly port
Of the Norbert Wiener's Alma Mater people!
Life is our happy future, beeple
Of the intellectual and emotional,
Science and technological, very optional
Engineering and design -
You can also the noosphere find
In the open fields of interesting and new
Development of nature and careering - view!
Stay with us and now, please, enjoy:
Was your very little problem there? -
Yes! And here is very big joy!
Management of all this
Is
A homepage of our planet,
You can really use and always plan it...

I'M Walking Backwards To Christmas

I’m walking backwards to Christmas, he sang,
Across the Irish Sea, he added;
In his head the wires disconnected to fuses
Blowing and smoking through serotonin drought;
Genius rubbed nerves with scouring pads,
Scrubbing the cells with black paint and cactus juice;
The deserts of chemical oblivion swept forever,
Jostling triptizol clouds and white lightning,
Bi-polar expresses careering off tracks,
Boxcars of words exploding in half-scripted fragments,
Filling the green-walled ward with deranged laughter.

“Captain.”
“Yes, Private?”
“Some bad news and some good news.”
“What is it?”
“Well, the Indians have captured the fort, 
burned it to the ground, killed all the men,
raped all the women and killed them too.”
“And the good news?”
“They spared your wife.”
“Damn, never did like them Indians much.”

The crystal sets erupt hysterically nationwide, 
Tears run, spilling down cheeks, bodies convulsing,
As the currents make him convulse;
And the pioneer of the alternative, crusader of the ludicrous insane, 
The straight-jacketed genius of the airwaves 
Continues to sing:
I’m walking backwards to Christmas, he sings,
Across the Irish Sea, he adds.

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