Long Car horn Poems
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A busy wife and mom, she always seemed late
But she didn’t know why, at times she would wait
When a sense of urgency was of great import
Especially to those waiting, most in need of her support
For those of us wondering, “How could she always take so long?”
Since it wasn’t obvious why, oft was heard a car horn
But many times I noticed, even as a small lad
There was intent in her lateness, usually to aid something or someone who had
A need greater than ours, or those we were meeting
Like our dogs needed water, or the horses needed feeding
Or, stopping to talk to an elderly neighbor
Who had just learned of an illness that caused them great labor
There was the time when she stopped the car to explain something of import
We got to ask many questions, she never cut us short
I also remember a stressful day, one where we were late for carpool
And an irate father took it out on her, very un cool
Later that night I could hear her crying as we went to sleep
And I prayed for an angel to visit and tell her not to weep
And to show her how her small decisions to be late
Greatly affect people and other’s lives, which then go on to create
Such a wonderful world for us all to enjoy
If we just keep in mind, that if all of us too employed
A sometimes-slight hesitation, a thought of others before plunging ahead
We’d all get to experience a life with more threads
That fulfills that promise to our creator who asked
Only that we fill our lives with greater weight
And maybe, just maybe, it’s because we’re a few minutes late
A woman on her daily walk was serenaded by
a cardinal, a blue jay, and a Carolina wren—
or so she thought. Imagine how surprised she would have been
to learn it was I, a mockingbird perched on a limb up high.
I can make you think you hear a car horn or an alarm,
a barking dog, or a piano. Year-round, day or night,
I perform many charming songs, to listeners’ delight,
but I’ll attack if I think man or creature means me harm.
I am wildly popular, along with being versatile.
I am the designated state bird in five Southern states.*
Those living in the area know that in the forest waits
a concert by performers that are sure to make them smile.
*Arkansas, Florida, Mississippi, Tennessee, and Texas
Yesterday was supposed to be my last day.
I spent it covered in blankets, jumping at each sound, afraid to be myself,
Thinking if I was too much me, they would come and get me, and drag me off for my killing.
Afraid if I drew too much attention, they would end me in the most horrible-ness of ways.
Since I frankly had no idea who they was, it was even creepier than it should have been.
I was hiding, from whatever was supposed to get me, the product of a nightmare the night before.
Yesterday was to be my last day; I woke up with the knowledge yesterday.
I dreamed it, I felt it, I knew it, and I was frozen by it.
I was in a semi-catatonic state of pure misery all day, waiting.
Jumping at each car horn, or the creak of my house, watching for murderers.
When my eyes popped open this morning I leapt out of bed, thrilled, crazed with unbelievable happiness.
God had given me another day!
The first day of the rest of my life,
A day to do all the things I have never before done.
I could choreography a dance, design a palace, build a log cabin, learn the jitterbug.
My imagination is soaring now.
Today is the first day of the rest of my life.
And today I am ready to live.
I had a cat that marked his territory right
into our TV – fried the whole thing
But I will not graffiti my alleyways with
crude phalli,
Spewing armchair warrior slogans across the concrete
My best friend growing up was a real whore,
in the kiss-and-tell sort of way
A real ladies’ man... He was a real bastard,
I’ll tell you that
But I will not line the walls of my den with
taxidermied lovers
Nor will I cage my dove for fear of a hawk.
Does the absence of glimmering swords
Take away from the radiance of her smile?
And what good are these powerful minarets,
Without the sweet, sweet song that echoes across them?
I have not fallen in love with a fish in a
bucket.
I have not fallen in love with a fish in a
bucket that will dart away
Never to be seen, if she ever touches the
sea again...
Which raises the question: why the bucket?
I have no interest in the bucket.
I have no interest in being the fisherman.
I bait no hooks and reel no lines.
I would much rather be a sea horse.
We can all learn a thing or two from the sea
horse.
So enough with this nonsense of honor and
chivalry
Enough of this predefined manliness and
rhetorical dick-waving
Enough of cages and lures and foxes in the
chicken coop
I see a lioness and her fawn under acacia
shadows
While my thirty-something year-old
compatriot playboys
Are on the prowl for pretty young things in
search of a fantasy
Wearing cravates of woven chest hair resting
over shirts not quite buttoned,
With Ralph the Polo Player getting bigger
and bigger
I have no fur coats, and I won’t sport any swag
I have no car horn to honk at your skirts,
No sly comments to mutter as you pass
No scarves to force around your heads
No honor to vest in your purity
I have only my faith in love
And whatever flaws that may bring
So what is it then,
to be a man?
The Unexpected Moments
1. Spider floats down a web, you grab at the web, then you toss it out the door,
you feel a tug in your hair, eight legs fumbles about, you shake and shake,
until it falls on the floor
2. Step off a curb, a tire screech, a car horn that never lets up
3. A honeybee in love with a woman's hair sprayed hair, hands waving all about
4. An edge-of-the-seat horror flick, popcorn sprinkles in your hair
5. A surprise party with an odd start, where's the handkerchief
6. A tap on your shoulder from behind, you roll your hand into a fist
7. Someone said boo and you do the boogaloo
8. An authority person calls you by your full name
9. The 'To-Your-Face-Do-Not-Flinch' Game or punches galore
10. A teacher's get-your-attention ruler slams the desk
11. The dreaded alarm clock goes off -or- didn't go off
12. The dozing off at work, co-worker finger snaps
2019 May 27
*4th Place*
What Makes You Flinch
~~Julie Leigh Rodeheaver
my heads about to burst
cant take no more
that damn squeaking
of that broken barn door
the dog is barking
a car horn blows
a baby is crying
as someone blows their nose
birds out there squawking
my wife coughing
the old bed springs
3 in the morning and my phone rings
the cats meowing what am I going to do
and what the hell is that out therekeep screaming who
crickets chirping in the tall grass
and now a hee haw from that old dumb ass
damn that rooster and his cock-a-doodle-do
its 4 in the morning are they really playing the blues
rain is falling on that tin roof top
is that the bad weather siren or is that the cops
someone walking through the house and the floor creeps
I guess its about obvious that im not getting any sleep
That’s why I write because I have no other choice
Cause all night long I hear these crazy noises
Spud's New Car, a tribute to my ever so lovely hamster Spud . . .
SPUD’S NEW CAR
My hammy has hit the wheel, but; doesn't seem to be getting very far
So I thought for Crimbo; I would buy him a new, battery-operated car
First, he gave it the eye-ball; and then he gave it a few indignant sniffs
Next thing he was running round in it; even asked me, if I wanted a lift
O’ for the life of Riley he was just having himself a right old flamin’ ball
Then he decides that he would give all of his other hammy mates a call
Wow smart motor Spud; what has happened did you lad win the pools
As all the other little hammy’s lined up; and, over his new car did drool
It's a Crimbo pressie off me Mammy says Spud; cheered me up no end
Now my bleeping of the car horn is silently driving her round the bend
The other little hammy’s then jumped in the car, each taking it in turns
Revving up the motor; making all the tyres squeal; and, in turn so burn
A Grand motor you have got there Spud; you must ever, so very proud
Aye, said Spud; as yet again, he bleeped his horn, as so very extra loud
Then it was gotta to go lads; for there is something special I have to do
Spud waved his good-byes; and, it was off in his brand new car, he flew
It was down to the local shops for some flowers and some sesame cake
Just like the ones, his Mommy; that just for him used to make and bake
Then Spud; raced back home again, for Mom he did not want to be late
Just to find his beloved Mommy; waiting just for him at the garden gate
It was a fabulous Crimbo really; and, Spud truly loved his brand new car
Mommy; got her thank-you flowers, and, Spud is now away, driving afar
"God Bless His Little Heart" Mom x x x
Indiana <--- Spuds proud Mom . . . : )
THIS IS A SONG WRITTEN 9/11/82
AND I WROTE IN SOUND AFFECTS :
i'm on the road to destruction
there's pain at every junction
destruction
road to destruction
At every hill and every bend
I'm going fast to the end
road of destruction
this road to destruction,
destruction
Red lights a-flashing
this life a-crashing
this road to destruction
on this road to destruction
There's a curve up ahead
in a moment I'll be dead
on this road to destruction
Cause there's no junction
on this road to destruction
road of destruction
destruction
destruction
THE SOUND EFFECTS ARE:
CAR ENGINE RAVING UP
GEARS SHIFTING
SQUEALING TIRES
CAR HORN BLOWING
ENGINE GOING ZOOM
POLICE SIRENS,FLASHING LIGHTS
LONG WAY OFF
SQUEALING TIRES,CRASH SOUND
DESTRUCTION..............
There's no junction
on this road to destruction
road of destruction
In halls of idol wind
Ribbons of rain
Ribbons of pain
Ribbons of the insane
Flying down the avenues
Hands clutching the wheel
Eyes blur as my mind swims…
of my intellect's ravaged ruined labyrinth.
Tangling in the rivers
of my specter ridden waste.
Ribbons pulling tight
The passion' of complex structure.
The cutting of the flesh in life.
The ribbons of rain
Dulled and stained
Running out of light
Traffic passing left and right
My hands of ragged bone
Grips the steering wheel…
The pain running in blinding ribbons
of red down obscure stone.
Tangling the seas of dreams
My escape into the Void's boundary's
I am wading in the rains of the insane.
Ribbons sway in the halls of the idle wind
I see the mark of Cain.
An idol raped in ragged ribbons
Ribbons of red
Ribbons of dread
Ribbons tangled in the hands of ravaged bone
Flesh and marrow
Rage riddled redden nails
Claw along idol halls
The skin goes pail
Horn’s blair…
Crumbling stone
Some where it runs
What have they done?
Ribbons wrap
Ribbons rain
Ribbons of the insane…
I jerk my head awake
As ribbons of light blind
Screaming tires flash of taillights
Crash of metal,
car horn blares,
fall sparkling window glass.
The beep of a machine a ribbon of life…
I have seen them stand outside my door,
pleading mother to help stage their show,
on our verandah with stony floor,
tattered clothes, hungry child, wife on tow!
dusty robes speak of miles he walked,
two woven baskets on wooden yoke,
usual wares with which he embarked,
a venomous trade to feed his folks!
with widened eyes I saw him sit down,
his sweat pouring down in summer heat,
mopping face and brow with long sleeved gown,
asks favour of water, food to eat!
rested and nourished his show is on,
a crowd of urchins get a free peep,
melody like from an old car horn,
he blows sharp and sweet but yet so deep.
speckled cobra nearly five feet long,
rocks in anger with an open hood,
heat of summer is no time for song,
disturbed from slumber, how very rude!
As child was overawed by his skills,
such deadly snakes controlled by his Been*,
there is tragedy behind each thrill,
truth of life, often hidden unseen!
snake charmer’s life is twin tragedy,
education denied from a child,
for snake it is to be in custody,
to lose their freedom to rule the wild!
let’s solve this tale with education,
help their children go to a good school,
use their skills to help conservation,
so the snakes roam free, the wild to rule!
*Been a musical flute made from a coconut shell used by snake charmers to distract the snake
Premier contest winner (3)
Written 4/01/2021
9 syllables each line except one that has 10 syllables
‘The Snake Charmers’ poetry contest
Kai Michael Neumann sponsored