Nowhere Man
I haven’t rode a motorcycle since 2011.
Riding through the trees was like heaven.
The last thing on earth that's freedom.
He doesn't need much.
Just a few bucks.
Ride on through with sunglasses.
Just ride until your heart's content.
Believe me, there's nothing like it.
Freedom on a bike.
A cool breeze outside.
My shadow rides beside me.
A lonely man on his bike is free.
Not many understand what it means.
On fire, the motor is always burning.
There is nothing like the open road.
Let all your thoughts go out the window.
Early morning ready to take flight.
Nothing else matters in sight.
Burnt tire tracks on the asphalt.
A beautiful day to ride in the fall.
So many memories so long ago.
Ride freely along the winding road.
Trees hover above as I ride below.
It’s like flying through a tunnel.
Just lean against your bike and grab a smoke.
Just cruse right into tomorrow.
Hi-Choo
Early spring in Corinth and I’m bathing in a pollen shower as fuzzy green seedlings are whisked here and there in the blustery March breeze, I sneeze!!
Remnants of last night’s thunderstorm cruse across the pale blue canvas of the afternoon sky as pine cones fluttering in the breeze make me sneeze, I sneeze, I I I I sneeze!!
Even the old crape Myrtle, pronounced deceased years ago, is budding and basking in the evening glow, her babies preparing to become leaves, and I sneeze sneeze sneeze , I sneeze, I sneeze
As you can see
Pollen damn near
Got the best of me
But let me catch
my breath
and finish my soliloquy
Old Magnolia, washed in Nature’s seasonal offering, regain their forest green state, after a brief bloom, branches swaying with ease and I sneeze sneeze sneeze I sneeze I I sneeze I sneeze
Wew!! Hi Choo!!
Oh, Moonshiner, man of the mountains high,
Where whispers of wind and wildcats' cry.
Your heart a kiln, your soul aflame,
With the secret of white lightning's name.
In hollows deep, your still does hum,
A symphony of steam, a hidden drum.
From fields of corn, a golden juice,
To fiery spirit, in silver cruse.
They call it 'stump water,' 'skullcracker,' too,
This potent elixir, born of dew,
A 'ruckus juice,' for joy and strife,
A taste of freedom, a taste of life.
You're a craftsman skilled, a master bold,
In the art of alchemy, stories untold.
With fire and patience, you coax it forth,
A spirit potent, of the mountain's worth.
So, raise a glass, to the moonshiner's art,
A rebel's brew, to stir the heart,
A taste of freedom, a whisper in the night,
A lightning flash, a fiery light.
A hot day and a smelter
Is it in Qatar, or in Dubai a friendly aluminum
smelter for sale, the one in the picture on a TV add
looks ok
Now that my wife is on holiday with her aunt I cruse
on the TV, but this is the first time I have come across
a smelter of aluminum
I buy food at the deli and warm it at home, taste
remarkable like my wife's cooking, not that I have seen
her peeled potatoes.
She hollers, come and get it and slams the cooking
lids together
I have had many cars, old ones, mainly because
I can't afford the taxi fare, I have no money to
buy a new car.
Aluminum smelter!
Wouldn't that be amazing?
I met a man in a bar who said he was a retired poet
spent his time writing slogans on walls
I told him about the affable smelter in Dubai
the retired poet looked out of the window
picked up his notebook and took no interest
in my smelter
He had seen a donkey with a straw hat and
regretted his retirement
To celebrate Chanukah right
is all about kindling light
Restoring the Holy Temple's site
one cruse of oil burned so bright ...
Israel's eternal plight ~
to merely exist, it ever must fight
Secrets are what kill us, hidden down deep within,
Locked away in shadows, the harbor place of sins,
They fester, and they grow, like germs in the night,
A burden on our souls, until they’re shown the light.
In the quiet of darkness, they are voices in your ear,
Urging you to do bad deeds, it’s the secrets we hear.
We dare not try elude them, or deny they be spoken,
Like a never-ending cruse, that cannot be unbroken.
They gnaw away our spirit, erode your sense of self,
We live in constant turmoil, in our own private hell.
For secrets are a burden, that we cannot bear alone,
They eat at us from the inside until we’re overthrown.
But it is not too late to turn, to confess our sins aloud,
Free ourselves from secrets, the leg irons of the proud.
Share your truths with someone, a kindred or a friend,
For in the light of virtue, is where we all are cleansed.
Farewell, au revoir, goodbye, convivial summer.
The day is late now, and the breeze is warmer.
A vacant ocean-side barricaded motel.
Wild geese are soon flying in lines as well.
Vacation homes drop their literate barricades.
This rich sweeping green tone will soon fade.
In this season, buds and fruits are abundant.
Melons and garden load are ardent.
Tanned skin, sailboats, and folded linen suits.
When the world is more positive than disputes,
Pollen irritates the sinuses of sensitive patients.
Now they've fled to the farm, the coast nascent.
Stop their passing endeavor at escape.
The Ferris wheel in LEGOLAND is agape.
The Cape no longer trades in quirkiness.
A glum family descends from the murkiness.
To welcome their offspring back from camp.
Mature year, scarlet maple boughs, raised scamp.
Sunburned shoulders disappear at summer's end.
Goodbye to the peasant's headband.
Goodbye storms and dirty white shoes.
Goodbye summer friends, pants, shorts, and cruse.
Farewell, tennis peculiar desire to be difficult.
Farewell picnics, ice tea, and plane trips, munificent.
Written: August 19, 2022
Don't dangle me by the third finger
Nor dress me in fear's death robes
I am a speck of dust in ghastly winds
That still hope to cruse in steady flows
If pyjamas are the night's necessities
Make my plans daring Tasmanian devils
I don't fancy playing with the dead yet
For I still have a few big clicks to click
And a couple of fancy score sheets to tik
The epicycle storms in my little head
Are like date dancing with the devil
They spun me around up to heaven
And let me free fall back to my thoughts
I woke up each time broken into shreds
Embellished in decorums of grave disbelief
And hopping I am not haunted by a Doppelganger
"Who is like unto You, O Lord?"
The Maccabees' battle cry
For the sake of God
They were willing to die
Their holiday's name is Chanukah
Which is translated as 'dedication'
The Temple's Lamp's restoration
with a cruse of pure olive oil
celebrated by lsrael's nation
No marches or military celebrations
~ Light is what ignites Jewish education
Freudiana
Famous poet Barclay Cruse
curent toast of New York salons
wears tinted glasses and Italian shoes
and composes doggerel for subway johns.
Acclaimed a purist by his colleagues
hard-edge painter Geoffrey Pyle
earned during Summers spent at Antibes
covert commissions from Armstrong Tile.
Junk sculptor Cranston Bold
collects mufflers and I'm told
often edits his creations
to fix his Chevy station wagon.
Cordell composes way-out music
quartets for flute and flushing toilets.
His father was a music critic
and caned him with his clarinet.
rain flows from heaven
sufficing all barren fields
creation lives on.
*1Kings 17:14 For thus saith the LORD God of Israel, The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the LORD sendeth rain upon the earth.
November 20, 2018
Edited on September 3, 2021
2nd place, "Favorite Nature Haiku" Writing Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 9/3/2021.
Draupadi's Mahabharath
Blinded by thoughts I have sunk into a corner
Unlikely and hasty thoughts seep into my heart
Maybe as I knew that I was the silent mourner
Of one noble soul, that destiny has tone apart
Clad in all white, I close my eyes
I am carried away by a ray of bright light
Then I ask myself if this was worth the disguise
Pride, lust, greed, jealousy, and vengeance dimmed my thoughtful sight
The cruse I had laid upon the land of glory and magic
Withered away in the passage of time
I had been one of the causes of an incident so tragic
I do not know what to call it, whether a curse of a lifetime or a selfish crime
Amidst the downpour of thoughts in my mind
I let myself to peace and left my intriguing thoughts undefined.
Note- Draupadi is one of the main characters in Mahabharath and she is the wife of the Pandavas or the five brothers.
Mahabharath is a great Indian epic which narrates the great war fought between the Kuru clan ( The Pandavas and the Kauravas) for many reasons.
This poem is just my assumption about Draupadi's point of view about the aftermath of the war. I do not intend to hurt anyone's feelings or opinions.
Tired of frolic
and the beaming sun,
the snow and ice retreat;
returning the pond nation
to its peaceful co-existence.
Toads once again sit
majestically upon their naked
rock thrones—no lily pads here.
A lone insect glides by
and is slap from the sky
by the welcoming frog’s tongue.
The ducks again cruse
the soothing wet water
dousing heads to catch prey
or douche long neglected feathers.
Suddenly, a rock skips across the pond.
Ducks frantically populate the sky.
As if a magic act of nature,
all other creatures disappear.
In the quietness of this canvassed scene,
ripples concentrically spread across the pond—
Shattered reflected rays, scattered dancing shadows.
Silently, we drove onward.
Indeed, nature’s mercy
has strange laws.
https://allpoetry.com/poem/13105586-The-Pond-by-millard-lowe
i like the way you do girl,
Like your moves and your thing,
I’m taken to your way,
It breaks me, makes me sing.
You are my height,
With you, I’m might,
We are in sight,
Of love’s hot kite.
We can cruse right to sigon,
Fly on wings of pardon,
And we can cry right on,
With the night’s condition.
You are my height,
With you, I’m might,
We are in sight,
Of love’s hot kite.
Your legs right in your tight jeans,
Beckon my hand to touch,
Right around that stalwart,
Where there is warmth so much.
You are my height,
With you, I’m might,
We are in sight,
Of love’s hot kite.
My darlin’, my pride and truth,
You are my destiny,
Let us be the downfall,
Of ingenuity.
You are my height,
With you, I’m might,
We are in sight,
Of love’s hot kite.
Space is final frontier
Like through ocean in age of sail
Spaceships cruse through space
Of course some dangers they also face
Math is fundamental to everything
Whoever possesses most of knowledge is a king
But math that we don’t know exists in abstract
And there is really no end to depth of its impact
One would not be incorrect to say
That in any day
Math and reality are only remotely connected
But that is to be expected
Everything that exists can be counted by math
But far beyond that grows math
True limit of math is beyond abstract
And there is no end to its true impact
If to math something would be
What to steam engine is spaceship that in dreams we see
The person who understands it would be
Able to do much more than live indefinitely
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