Why does the trolley
dolly or cart
I choose to use
in every supermart
always have a wonky wobbly wheel
and feel oh so wearing
as if it's about to lose
its marbles or ball bearings?
It clunks like junk with a 'thunking' sound
and almost dumps
my groceries on the ground
won't go straight
invariably tilts veers
careens or curves
and without a doubt
indubitably gets on my nerves
Several weeks in to this healing journey.
Grateful of course, there was no gurney..
Now waiting for these bones to knit.
It's challenging for me to quietly sit.
Wheeling around my condo floors,
the metal stripping's are loose once more.
My wheel chair clunks on the foyer tiles.
Some days my arms feel they've walked several miles..
I amble to my car with my walking stick, to run a few
errands lickity split.
I'm grateful for drive thru's, those places one
can just pull up to: drive thru pharmacy to pick up my meds,
drive thru star bucks to clear my head, of course the fast
food options too. May God bless the drive thru!!
Still striving hard not to succumb to my some days
emotional pendulum..
Five weeks down, five more to go, the healing process is
painfully slow.
School bus driver
Releases the squish of her air brakes
With a lurch from knees and chest
Clunks the bus into Park
Lowers her red head into the matchsticks of her dry hands
Rolls the meatballs of her eyes between her thumbs
And quietly says Help me God reaching for her cigarettes.
Out of habit she takes one last glance
Into her rearview mirror
Seeing the blond hair of a kid
Sitting in what should be the empty back.
The driver tears down the aisle to her own childhood
Kindergartner sitting with her precious hands
Balanced like tea cups on her knees
Her pretty dress that her mother picked
Is the color of bees teasing flowers
Her blue eyes dazzling
She has a worried smile drawn across her face
Squiggled there by dad in the morning.
She doesn’t speak a word
The driver takes her by the hand
And walks her to the garage to make The Call.
There’s been a terrible mistake
The driver’s boss says over the phone
To mom then dad both at work.
Sound of sea is locked within seashell beached
Just lift a shell to your ear to hear sea sigh.
Morn is locked within dawns red sky horizon
Like flower bud bursts into daybreak.
Sap and sinew of living tree trunk
Is locking within its wood when cut and dried.
Knitters love and enterprise is purled into garments
Finger strokes coiled and entwined, locked within.
Photos frozen, snap shots, shuttered images frozen
Have memories locked within, auras that come to life when images viewed.
Locked within a diamond is flash of light and sparkles bright
Like a star it twinkles its light and shimmers at night.
Locked within a pebble on bed of stream are the clunks and thuds
That have ground it smooth during its passage downstream.
Locked within love locks padlocked to bridge
Is the hope that love locked up, cannot escape and flee.
For nothing is completely new since the big bang exploded
All things solid and spiritual have their birth and legacy locked within.
The threads of time's passage coiled and entwined
Locked within all matter until the end of time.
Everything has some within in tidbits locked inside
'Tis the within of things in lockets.
In illuminated tubes,
in hospital beige,
this whirring, clicking, living grave.
It clunks and junks,
it beeps and meeps,
and it peeps.
And in they peep,
all the secrets that you keep,
on a screen behind a screen.
You can't see them,
but you are seen,
every
nanofibrous
imperfection.
They see through thoughts
and all the juices.
They see your tauts
and all your looses.
Where blood escapes,
and where it oozes,
or
where
it
does
not,
and more importantly, where does it clot?!
Then a two week wait to see wot you got!
SOUNDS I LIKE
Hiss of waves in seas
Wood being hand-sawn in chunks
Howling wind through trees
Key in lock heavy oily metallic clunks
Baby’s gurgling at a bottle teat
Cat’s throaty purrs on my knee
Man’s whistling at work in the street
Kettle being filled with water for tea
PASSION FOR CYCLING
Coast to coast across England in one day
A hundred miles in one trip.
Bike like a rocket each sprocket fits its socket
With well oiled smoothness of clockwork
Feels good as chain clunks from one socket to the next
And the ticking whirring of freewheel
And zipping noise of fast tires on flat ashphalt
Hum a song to me as I lean over into the bend
And the bike leans with me.
Smooth road; never mind the few bumps;
And air so fresh you could eat it in lumps.
Aroma of York’s chocolate ten miles away,
Bread-baking and brewing downwind of Carlisle
Make me ready for dinner. And the strong
Odour of fish in North Shields,
Stink of cattle feed outside Goole,
Sickly smell of plastics factory, oil newly-refined,
Makes you see even if you’re blind.
Makes me want to pedal for home.
You cannot be serious
That ball was out
Sorry J. McEnroe
There’s no longer a doubt
The days of valve TVs
You tuned with a thump
And recording the charts
With cassette tape key clunks
Of writing a letter
You mailed in the post
Not mailing your client
Via some web server’s host
Or talking in person
Arrangements to make
Not sending a text
They can read in their break
Of reading a book
Or playing a game
No time to waste
It’s soap TV time again
The music’s much louder
The print face so small
Don’t worry J. McEnroe
It’s progress, that's all.
Five dollars on average pays
for a McDonnalds value meal.
Costs little in comparison to
other fast food chains.
I think about this as the
drawer - clunks
open - close and
blue painted chipped
polished nails scrape
against the plastic.
Giving a nickel a penny.
Even my mind is
corporatized here.
Commercialized brain waves,
I'm trained.
I smile that cute big smile,
waitress and bartenders
have it.
I don't know why without
the chance of tips
I even bother with it,
You're meal ( if large sized)
pays more than my hour.
Tell this to the people in their
new SUV's, Isuzus,
suburban sedans.
Twingy eyed from waiting
during dinner.
Tight lips, pursed prisses,
mini vans with screaming hoards
A multitude of lined
and organized confusion.
The beeping and ringing go
off again, damn
the collaborated, machinated,
soda.... Ok, I mean Pop
machine is sticking, cranking,
turning---
EEEEHHH ,EEHHHH , EEHHH
Minimun wage,
It resonants repeatedly
boiling in grease inside
and out.
Beeping and burns
Smiles and Thank yous.
False family financing,
no better than Disney,
damn maybe they are
already Disney.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.