Winnie learned all about fixing motors from her daddy.
She had tuned up six Fords, two Chevys and a Caddy.
Daddy got her a jalopy of her own when she was sixteen.
She took it all apart, so it would be oiled up and clean.
Labelled the parts as they came out one by one.
Winnie’s mother threw up her hands. Said “this is no fun!”
Her daddy was delighted, and excited to see his girl enjoy….
Her first car ever; which she treated like her favorite toy.
Bold is his vision
as he navigates curves
Scales mountains, fords streams
with effortless nerve
Behind the mask, a lie
eyes, fountains of tears
Shine, Sincerity! Shield!
the rest of his gear
A unicorn travels through the wheat fields and lays its dreams on pillows of poppies,
In your fragrance of wind, as clover crowns itself in bloom,
Over the evening horizon, see, stars were falling,
And in a handkerchief, I knot the embroidery of the storm.
Under my feet, dust grows, and lightning passes through me,
The wind moves among the shadows, caressing itself.
My summer, you who were ephemeral and now delay yourself,
Septembers will come again just as butterflies arrive on flowers.
I don’t see how time flees if my eyes are blind,
Nor how amber flows through the clock, hidden beneath the rhubarb,
Under foreign rains, water suffocates in the abyss,
And crowded seconds walk their fingers through the fords.
From a clock falls a shadow trembling towards the horizon,
I no longer know if I have died or am a bird of salt,
The moment between butterflies sometimes seems a chasm wounding words,
Other times a field of mallows that is silent and deceives you.
On a child, time paints the dew of golden steps,
I gather the swallows from the grass, fleeing from summers that fly away.
The McCormick family loves wheels
We like bikes, trikes, mopeds and motorcycles
We like Fords, Chevys, Lincolns and Cadillacs.
We are also racers.
Others watch the Indianapolis 500
We like driving like we just left the pit crew.
Our ancestors started us on this journey.
We were having a race on Wednesday
When grandma got on a moped.
I am going to outrun these cycles! She said.
“Let grandma win! Let grandma win! “ we all yelled.
Unfortunately, the little McCormicks are competitive like us.
They outrode, outraced and outran grandma.
The last one to the finish line, she pouted all day.
Saturday was shopping then a walk Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car
Reading book reviews and chewing stalks
Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore
Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed
Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed
Farmers working hard, a harvest, grain
The sky through mist a cobalt blue displayed
Standon with its fords and wandering cows
Little rivers,Essex, flowing down
The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound
Water for the Thames and mossy ground
The earth feels like my body sacrificed
The artist’s canvas stretched ,a matri1
Saturday was shopping then a walk Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car
Reading book reviews and chewing stalks
Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore
Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed
Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed
Farmers working hard, a harvest, grain
The sky through mist a cobalt blue displayed
Standon with its fords and wandering cows
Little rivers,Essex, flowing down
The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound
Water for the Thames and mossy ground
The earth feels like my body sacrificed
The artist’s canvas stretched ,a mat
Body shirts and platform shoes
Discos and push back dos
The Bee Gees Staying Alive
Do you get the Disco jive
Countdown on a Sunday night
The latest tunes brought to sight
Toranas Chargers and Fords
Your choice Australian accord
Clothes so bright there was no hiding
Invitations that were so inviting
The 70s were the decade for me
Still single and so fancy free.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Wales
I used to live in Chester, a beautiful town
and often walked along the Roman wall and, in my mind,
I saw Roman soldiers sitting by the fire roasting mice.
On Sundays, I liked to drive to Wales a beautiful country of rolling hills
and sheep with coal dust on,
Back then and this is years ago, you could drink tea in a pub,
I once drank coffee and it was ghastly.
I liked this country it had a dreamy quality.
Now I´m watching a crime story from Wales and it had nothing to do with
the land I remember.
This country I see on the screen is dark with old houses and people
who carries a dark secret in their hearts?
What do I know? Perhaps the lovely barmaid had killed her father
dropped him in a deep well only a detective who knew the mind
of Wale`s psyche could work out.
As it is I prefer to remember Wales, crossing fords wondering who deep they were, the narrow roads and sheep on hills.
I stick with what I remember, the TV. The program is entertainment.
Cars in the seventies,
Had character, you see,
Lime green Fords with stripes GT,
Waxed on weekends, thoroughly,
Double Cam exhausts with Mag wheels,
Now bland cars are the deal,
White, black, silver or grey,
Purple or orange cars just drove away!
Beyond the Grey Sky
Sunshine glint fords this picturesque perspective,
well-disposed indeed, reserved for visitors,
my sepulcher neglected, whilst ...
time-stretched o'er,
~~my limestone sculpture.
Didst thee thought of me become therefore feeble,
wouldst thou respond moreover fulfill me whole,
nought by some supposed decree, nor wrongs ...
from me,
~~wouldst nought keep from thee.
Confounded of why this occurrence exists,
recompense didst I, whilst I lived gifts reprieve,
bedridden I midst the souls huddled in grief,
~~didst by duty cries?
'Tis penitence yet ponders whilst fresh ground detects,
new expressions circumvent, whispers, sleep I,
current flowers set, except one set on me,
~~my loved one stirred me.
2020 September 12
Car salesmen are singing the no cars sold today blues
Lamenting this pandemic because baby needs shoes
On commission having to pay back their pithy draw
These salesmens’ feelings are bruised mighty raw
Come get your Fords and Chevies today
Subarus are safest cars in every kind of way
We can bring a car you will love to own
To your driveway - just pick up the phone
Yes the car salesmen are singing no sale blues
Covid 19 for them has been really bad news
If you have extra money coming your way
Would you mind buying a new car today?
An artist’s canvas stretched , a matricide
Saturday was shopping then a walk
Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car
Reading book reviews and chewing stalks
Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore
Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed
Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed
Farmers working hard, a harvest, grain
The sky through mist a cobalt blue displayed
Standon with its fords and wandering cows
Little rivers,Essex, flowing down
The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound
Water for the Thames and mossy ground
The earth feels like my body sacrificed
An artist’s canvas stretched , a matricide
Dead cars decorate the field
behind an old Texaco station
that smells of grease and gasoline
This is their graveyard:
a place to rest and rust
as relics of yesteryear
Fords, Plymouths, Chevrolets,
mirrored monuments of the past
sleep peacefully in the grass
Shards of glass spatter floor mats
like pieces of puzzles
no one cares to put together
Ripped seats, pitted chrome
rotten rubber, faded paint
telltale signs of a lost battle
The playground for adventurous boys
they pretend to steer these beauties
along one last mile of highway
Treasure hunters scavenge
name tags, license plates, hood ornaments
the last source of identity
After all, in the end
name and reputation
are all that's left on this earth
Heaven holds the rest.
Data, social media, hardware, cyberbullying, software, internet connection, zip drive.
If the people who had to throw out pianos from covered wagons opened their ears to our world of today and heard our current speak,
they would probably believe that they have awoken on a different planet, one with an odd new language.
Can you fathom what they would think when they hear us banty about words like computer, telephone, digital reality, video games, refrigerators,
Electricity, Chryslers, Fords, Chevys, Jeeps, and Buicks?
A glimpse of a turned on TV set would probably have them climbing back into their wagon to hide under grandma’s lovingly made blanket, to pray that it would
go away.
Which makes me wonder, what was their word for glitzy and awesome?
As culture changes and evolves, so do our words.
O who will give me tears? Come, all ye springs,
Dwell in my head and eyes; come, clouds
and rain;
My grief hath need of all the watery things
That nature hath produced: let every vein
Suck up a river to supply mine eyes,
My weary weeping eyes, too dry for me,
Unless they get new conduits, new supplies,
To bear them out, and with my state agree.
What are two shallow fords, two little spouts
Of a less world ? the greater is but small,
A narrow cupboard for my griefs and doubts,
Which want provision in the midst of all.
Verses, ye are too fine a thing, too wise
For my rough sorrows ; cease, be dumb and mute,
Give up your feet and running to mine eyes,
And keep your measures for some lover's lute,
Whose grief allows him music and a rhyme ;
For mine excludes both measure, tune, and time.
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