boy of eighteen driving a restless volkswagen
riding the hot clutch at kellogg street and grand
finding cool music by santana on the tune dex
finding tanned chicks in bikinis riding stingrays
riding cool like cats cruising for cheeseburgers
blond surfer chicks wearing beads from mexico
hitchhiking at noon for a ride to San Bernardino
bumming cigarettes with cleavages and lipstick
seeking bootleg kisses in the front seat of a ford
rapping stories about the rolling stones concert
talking tales of fuzz box nookie in the parking lot
boy of eighteen cruising the big circle in corona
riding the hot clutch at kellogg street and grand
rolling down the road
two wet noses sniffing
catching air
I see myself far out of reach
on a south seas tropical island beach
piña colada close at hand
playing drums in Bright Eye Band
who knows where the cash all falls
with bills and rent the money's spent
who knows 'xactly where it went
and I picture me behind the wheel
of a sharp new shiny automobile
radio blasting the top is down
cruising to the hot spots all over town
who knows where the funds all go
it don't take long the money's done
who knows where it's gone
who knows where the money goes
it slips through my fingers away it rolls
there's never enough and my pockets have holes
The darkness of night creeps quite deep,
The world everywhere is asleep,
I feel my breath within my chest,
Sensing myself divinely blessed.
My lungs expand to hold the air,
Deep silence prevails everywhere,
A void fills the crown of my head
Where during daylight thoughts are fed.
Seated down erect on a chair
I breathe deep and hold on the air,
Focussing on my inner self
And peering down within myself.
Feels of peace suffuse my being,
In the space I sense like cruising,
Aware of being a live soul,
Linked with some greater divine whole.
Alive to the depth within me,
Quite conscious of the bliss to be,
I feel a spark lighting my eye
With its glow sourcing from the sky.
I touch my hand against my cheek
And find strength from within me leak,
That during day I could not know,
Like the steady way currents flow.
This inner force that draws the light
Pervades in me bliss and delight,
That one can find, but in the high
When soaring up towards the sky.
My mind is clear as shining glass,
In silence I watch moments pass,
I am the seeker and the seen,
Being in the space in between.
nature takes its course
no worries no hurry
enjoying the scene
Lumbar ladies stroll by as the night sedans plunder the ho-dad hostels.
Looking to find nothing except another dozing cigarette beyond the cadenzas.
Another hot afternoon in suburbia with the repeated barkings of a distant dog.
Billy boy in his red asphalt-eating machine turns the dial to San Bernardino.
There is cool music bobbing in the hot accepting winds, south of Dragons Head.
In smoggy Corona, the dizzy Volkswagens travel in circles like demented dogs.
Billy boy guns the engine as he and the Mexican chick cruise in a ’67 beetle.
They pass the Chuck Wagon, as Slim Harpo melts the sun with Little Liza Jane.
Traffic signals, and the elderberry trees, pretend to dance to the muted cadences.
The hot afternoon winds play their own love-games as Billy boy comes to a stop.
Brown-eyed señorita with long hair flowing tells Billy boy to turn up the sound.
‘Music is life,’ she says, as the red asphalt-eating machine turns left at 6th Street.
Lumbar ladies stroll by now as the night sedans receive the night’s embrace.
At City Park, Billy and his latin lady sleep soundly in the cottonwood darkness.
I was a good Buddhist jack tar,
Confident to sail this ocean of time alone,
All desire renounced and stowed away
Like smuggled cargo I pretend is legal trade.
I was well-practiced in the art of navigating perils,
Steering clear of revenue cutters, hostile native islanders,
And other such threatening complications.
Now has a typhoon struck that threatens contentment,
The swells have made me dizzy
And my sea legs seem uncertain
As I ride Poseidon’s roller coaster sick as a lubber,
An unlucky smuggler caught in the act
Of feeling long dormant desires stage mutiny
And relieve me of command of my senses,
Lusting after that other salty wonder.
In memory of the many miles we spent together, on two wheels, on the road.
Cruising Forward
By Franklin Price
1/28/2022
As I am moving forward
You're still with me on the ride
We're cruising down the highway
On our Harleys side by side
The wind is blowing through your hair
Sun has tanned your lovely face
In leathers red, you pull ahead
To prepare for me a place
The fringes on your coat and chaps
Are waving in the air
You look back, and smile at me
I still know you really care
Your hand twists on the throttle
As you shift a higher gear
My eyes are dampened by the breeze
As you quickly disappear
Then I hear a noise behind me
It's the rumble of your bike
You fall in right beside me
In the place that we both like
Your spirit still rides with me
Though you're with God in the sky
The road ahead is waiting
“See you later, not goodbye”
yearning years yawned
plying punctured pawn
voluptuous vein shriek
taking taunted tier
porous passion perforated
hoisted hankering hibernated
callous conspiracy crowed
gaunt crest cloned
feeble flesh flown
bounty blitzkrieg bruised
dark dribbles drooled
perfidious age pruned
sumptuous syllables seeped'n
crumbling cruising creed.
'20:04:05:11:51
Note: Of Kanta Roy, a fellow poet, a distant mother.
cruising a
nebula in Orion -
aurora borealis
Our life book is loaded up with lots of love.
A sentence here, a paragraph there; even a chapter pair;
Hearing wedding bells, sharing honeymoon embraces, alone times and skis;
Other romantic tales of ships with sails cruising exotic seas.
Children churning ice cream with us the old-fashioned way.
Grandchildren rushing to our knees; hugging us at the door.
The sadness of seeing the passing of warm parental love
And all the bittersweet memories that a lifetime may endure.
Our love will flow on through wrinkled skin and jowly chins.
Love is beyond feeling, it is a way of life.
1/15/2019
Volatile this old dude can sometimes be
People overreact to the minor slippage they see
Still cruising along
Singing life's song
Not perfect but still climbing life's majestic tree
My wonderful wife I am always excusing,
Because she has been bruising to be cruising;
If able and can,
Another trip plan;
All she has is me who amazing and amusing.
Hope to have many more trips planned in the
near future. Futures that are near and not
far away are some of the best ones.
Current and now is always the best of all
combined and along with a pleasant past.
Those are the ones I would never want to
put past you or be put out to pasture for
that matter. Jim Horn
Without a care in the world no regrets
Optimistic, excited, an holiday one craves
Roaming from one Country to the next
Living a life of luxury on the ocean waves
Drinking champagne, fine dining, unperplexed,
Cabins with gorgeous views aquatic sculptures
Relaxing during the day and partying by nights
Under star lit skies, experiencing different cultures
Investigating new frontiers, sampling new delights
Satisfying my curiosity, unknown adventures,
Earth will be my oyster, southern and northern lights.
Composed 08/10/2017.
For contest World Cruise,
Sponsored by Kevin Shaw.
Cruising the hardened streets,
Inhaling the bouquet
Of lively, wicked San Francisco,
Where chicks in heels
Somehow reveal,
An eloquent, famished soul,
Tending to knights,
On shiny pretty nights,
Cloaked in their fabulous
Gaberdine impressions,
Longing to seek acceptance
From ravenous forces,
Among the supple horde,
With few examples,
Ones rich in forsaken noble urges,
Change the world,
By simple stroking,
New rules invoking
A daring type of protocol,
Measured in leaps and mounds,
Severed from frenzied, mangled morals,
The kind you like to chew,
And spit out,
In order to salvage,
Your sense of decency,
You claim resiliency,
And return this fresh-flavored tab
To its rightful owner,
Juice seeping,
Remotely flowing into gaps
Which never intend to heal,
Let alone stop,
For closure means
The end of languid trepidation,
Edges clear themselves
Of thorny, pointless brush,
Seeking conflagration,
From any ignition
Willing to play the part,
And we sit, knowing,
That classy, shiny edifices
Like to devour
Our sense of wanting more,
Not for ourselves,
But for everyone,
And everything
That truly matters.
(8/3/04)
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