Long Car park Poems
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I remember how I would cry myself to sleep
Night after night then I would wake the next morning
Dreading the moment I stepped into the
School's doors where you would all be waiting.
You'd smile and pretend like we were the best of friends
Till my parents left the car park then the words
Would fall from your mouths slashing and cutting,Burning into
my brain. You would all stand around me mocking me,jeering.
When you saw your words didn't effect me,you moved on to
The physical. I remember how your hands would wrap
around my throat,preventing me from breathing. You'd laugh at
My struggle to breathe. I remember how they would hold
Me down so I couldn't run while you would punch me repeatedly till I
Could no longer stand up right,till I lay in a pool of my own blood. How people
would just watch and laugh but never stop and intervene. The pain and
humiliation I felt only enhanced your glee.
I've grown stronger, now nobody would dare mock me. Sometimes
people aren't strong enough to survive this so they leave but some
people come out stronger...like me. I remember how you'd get so angry
Because I never cried,I never screamed I just took it silently.
When I look back I see how small you were and I try to feel anger at what you
did to me but I feel nothing. I try to hate you but I can't.
Maybe it's because I'm now successful and you have nothing to look forward to
but another gruelling day of pain and little food.
I feel no hate only sympathy towards the person I once feared but no longer do.
Now I look back and smile at how I could've stopped you and I know you
realised this too, now I know why you only ever hurt me when your friends were
around to hold me down. I admit you've ruined me in many ways. I can no
longer trust people,love people,no longer look people in the eye,but I look back
and smile because if you had never hurt me like you did I wouldn't be the
person I am today, I wouldn't be as strong and independent,as successful and
happy as I am today, I would never feel such a strong sense of justice like I do
now so I would like to thank you for making me a better person.
Thank you.
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It was one of those sunny days, that later on merge in memory, and you can’t tell one from another instantly, but on the second sight they discern, each with its own number of little events. There was good visibility from the second deck of the bus - my memories start when we are standing at a junction on red, we need to cross a major motorway. There are not many cars moving along the motorway, we keep staying, I remember a delivery biker, and a yellow DHL van in front of us, it looks like it is going to attend in the same direction. Finally, the light turns green, and we slowly cross the motorway into a narrow street. The low-rise houses are half-hidden by trees - the spicy smell of linden trees in bloom wafts in through the half-open window on my side. We pass an industrial zone, a string of concrete warehouses standing tightly together, then we descend into a valley, then the road goes up the hill. Soon we stop in front of the barrier - ahead we see the car park, small groups of people here and there - tourists who have come to see the Seven Sisters, and perhaps to swim in the sea. I descend a fairly steep path down to the sea, and finally I'm down on the shore. Although there are people wandering around, I don't notice anyone, and I can't hear what they are saying. I manage to sit down on one of the rocks warmed by the sun, and just stare at the water, at the calm waves. It doesn't matter whether I exist or whether someone else is looking at the sea, as long as I stay in some incomprehensible flat that serves as my home, although my home is something out of the realm of unrealisable fantasies. But there is no law that compels one to have a country, a home, habits, a job, a family. I don’t have a country, its the country that has me, for reasons beyond my comprehension, same is relevant about that bogus home, job, family, habits. I agree to relate to some point to a number of things that are not my own, its not a big trouble. But I don't belong there mentally or spiritually. I take advantage of this oversight of the overseers of order, and slip away to where the waves reflect the light of the sky. Who I am, doesn't matter. Can be anyone, or someone you happen to know.
I saw this young boy standing there, and much to my dismay
Had a pretty young thing with him, so it sort of wrecked my day
Now I was slightly older, but does that really count
It is years of experience, that adds to some amount
I noticed when they parted, my heart took quite a leap
Gave her a healthy cuddle, but only kissed her on the cheek
Now she could be related, and I can ply my wares
Don't step where I'm not wanted, not that anybody cares
I need to make a contact, but not frighten him to death
I sit down on a park bench, pretend I'm out of breath
I sit there heavy breathing, from the corner of my eye
I see him looking quite concerned, seems to wonder why
Comes close and then just stands there, at a loss for what to say
I will need to help him now, or he may be on his way
I look up and he sees red eyes, I gave them quite a rub
I was like a she wolf, looking at a young bear cub
Can I help you, were his first words, I thought, I have you now
I completely cut off his retreat, over time I have learnt how
Could you get some water, from the bag that I have there
To get him trapped completely, give him a chance to care
He sat down there beside me, my heart took another leap
I reached out and took his hand, his interest to keep
I can't think what's come over me, and it's quite a long way home
If you're not busy could you help me, may not make it on my own
Or course, he said, I'll get a cab, I said can you drive a car
Mine is in the car park, and it's not so very far
He assured me he would help me, would drive me to my house
I felt just a little guilty, about playing cat and mouse
But the devil takes the hindmost, I was well on my way
I had blocked him in a corner, was not much that he could say
Even if he wanted to, there was now no escape
Had to stifle my excitement, so he couldn't call it rape
You'll get no more information, I do not kiss and tell
Except to say one thing of course, the trap worked very well
There was something that once I heard, the best thing you can do
Is chase a date with all your heart, until he catches you
Dear Joanne. If there is a problem, there are human beings.
We have all made mistakes but people like me are not needed.
Dear Joanne. I have received a letter from the office of the adjudicator concerning my income and expenditure. It is requesting that on my present earnings, that my disposable income is £744.00 per month. However, my current circumstances have changed, and I will always continue to change.
I must move out of my current property and have nothing but books.? I have lost things and made memories and lost things. I have investigated private accommodation, but they are asking for a deposit, two months in advance which is likely to be more than two thousand pounds just to rent not including bills. I have approached the local hostel; I do not meet the criteria as I am employed.
?
Dear Joanne. I am starting to think I’m crazy. I have not yet found any options but staying at the library and to write. This month I’m paying for my MOT, renewed car insurance and service. I can’t get more ambition as my greatest moment in life, is waking up at 6 am and returning endlessly, incomplete. Every day is the same, but I don’t feel the same. To maintain my job, I am doing more than 18 hours per day.
Dear Joanne. I am living in a car park. I am currently concentrating on accommodation; my mind continues to be problematic. I would call but I don’t have a phone. In established solitude I neglect myself.
Dear Joanne. I can’t afford food. I have observed peppers that trigger regret, mushrooms in various states of anxiety and courgettes produced in Morocco that make me question my minds direction. All the decorated cans of foods are at unobtainable heights, potential future achievements. The closest expiration date has more value, more worth than people like me who live in a dark room.
There is more love being alone. It was the greatest opportunity to know why I lived and offered me chances to see real life. We are just as meaningful as vegetables. In our own beds, looking up at the world. As nothing.
No flame within!
do I hold for you
no delightful delicacy
shall I put to rhyme.
No picturesque words
in italics of your
woeful wildlife, no
acknowledgement of
the ancient mariner, he
that crossed the margin
of our “Atlas of the world.”
(Still in use, [I believe] in the
old stone museum.)
One can easily live in fear
of your many mordant moods,
to see you capture the
embracing horizon, where warring
clouds fondle the sunlight,
and the departing QE 2 is
reduced to microcosm.
How can one live in awe of
you, when at the end of each
day you snatch at the light of
sustenance, therefore
giving license to the veil
of damnation, soon to be cast
out of the east, driving impending
fears to languish upon the
unholy waters of the Styx?
(An extraction of the mind,
an evaporation of the memory
the spray dried brain
tossed into oblivion.)
Yet each morning an
interval to one’s ongoing
nightmare, when with renewed
levitation, the new light reprieved!
Begins avidly it’s universal
journey across Manukau’s
“Pack ‘n’ Save” Car park.
Oh yes! It is so easy to hate you;
you that brought the rest of
the world here, you that constitutes
a world within a world, that,
where the cycle of life creates it’s
own constitution, each player
judged on cue, to become an act of
fodder, mobile supermarkets
in ferocious competition with
nothing at all to give.
“Unless death itself is a gift!”
Upon the surface your
treachery still lingers, there,
tenacious tentacles lurk
within the sedulous surf,
groping blindly at sedated
rocks, those pinnacles of sanctuary
that harbour the weary,
support the rod.
Only when gravitation truly
intervenes, does the perpetual
invasion subside, leaving one in
no doubt about your promiscuity!
© Harry J Horsman 1993
A monochrome of boho days
segue one another surreptitiously.
Endless pantomimes of idle chatter flutter by.
Cantilever bridge, a one stop halting site for gossip and suspense.
Small talk, bespoke winged creature, Combe of pleuron.
Turin shroud spotter in the mise en scene melting pot.
The spirited stride of pavement strollers prompted by
agenda.
Metatarsals on the march.
Street vendor’s spooky cry with banjo beating busker at his side.
Dirt pan bellow and brittle strum about the
orange alert ahead.
Crowded car park, careening bus, frustrated taxi driver rank and file.
Backstreet Barney or kerfuffle on the lawn.
Swing sign overhead, a pawn in every trending breeze.
Office block malarkey cutting capers for the press.
New age ante-fix, the cover tile for corruption.
Whistle blowing wag inside the
city centre fault line.
Brass neck
reservoir of hoodwink high and low.
Harassed mother, barefoot beggar
nervously extends her rusted tin.
Guilt edge coin as bandage to our shoddy scruple.
Bag lady on the fringe of some haute couture complex.
Stasi-like security whose bluff veneer belies an inner
bludgeon.
Crouton salad diner has his finger on the pulse but not his pulse rate!
Tycoon in transition with an open brief!
Teflon tyrant
back to the future.
Ambulance chaser …. legal eagle…..with fortune in misfortune their calling card .
To the limit and beyond like an offshore Ansbacher.
Noonday bell
interloper at the scuttlebutt tavern.
Seconds out,
moments out,
hours in a hari kari haze.
Sensei’s of the left filling void with vacuum.
Laboured diatribe against dynasty, trite slogans, empty rhetoric, mannah from heaven?
All this from the cadres of social despotism!
Passage, the
pollinating insect of aroha.
Behind the rhythm of the grind a broad leaf grain of hope may sprout.
Green shoots of bounty.
Latent sidewalk bloomer.
Blossom by default or tender impulse
BOING..?!#! Its off at boeing..' the wheels and doors have
Gone..planes just; over-drive the runways, they're rivalling
Sann-yong..They're rolling in inclusions, like its for a dare!!
People choosing flights right now, for boeing they don't care.' Thery're checking in their millions, about which plane
To take..(Have they got woke on boeing?) Wow!! the realtime
Take-off joke..Its murder in the car park..' cause people
Just can't leave.' They're waiting for a different plane its
Stuff you'd scarce beleive.' Well if you knew the 70's? when
Boeing was a brand!! When quality was valued when jobs
Were fully manned.' When woke meant being lively, alert
Right on the job..' Now its eyliner at the ready where them
And they, arn't just words..Yet reflect as jokes, the pokes
Are seldom noticed, and whether pigs reside within their
Hallowed coverings.' Who really can decide.? Decide..? Is
Just the term no doubt.' Around the boeing joints, its
Forget about the riveting.' What nail varnish? is more on point'
Do you buff nails after coffee? Or before.? Which task is next ?
Is it adjusting window seating, or arranging jims hair-net.?
Are the women really 'manning up?' Or is that term all wrong?
If you get assigned to Australia, you should check with
'Penny Wong.' Another thing you'll find at boeing' detail is not
The thing.! John Burnet went into details.' We wanted quiet yet
He would sing.!! He shouted about 'forbidden stuff ' like safety
And ethics and work??? We knew his kind, they insist on fine.'
Yet the weathers foul, well for him it was to be.' The jerk..An unworthy
Man. ! He'd had a mortgage; and' a regular wife and familiy!! he
Even said he enjoyed life.' He didn't pill pop devoid of vice.?
Well now he's dead, suicide its said..' And thats the truth you see!!
Just like flo is fred.' or june is wed to a lamp post.) at boeing
all is as it should be.!
Domestic
The lady was a goddess in her looks and demeanor. Very beautiful in every way. From the way she swayed her hips to her seductive smile to fluttering her eyelids. It was what wasn’t said that got men’s attention but the hidden and unseen, images placed in their minds eye. Only one man was lucky to own her heart. For a long time they were happy. Then he ballsed it up big time. They had a domestic, he beat her to an inch of her life. Bruising her goddess looks beyond recognition, making blood flow like a river, snapping her precious bones like twigs, leaving her to die. Only she didn’t die. For she really was a Goddess. Her wounds healed and she went after her violent boyfriend. She caught him in the pub with another woman. A punch in the face broke the other girl’s nose and permanently ruined her looks. The girl fled. The Goddess ordered her boyfriend to the car park. It’s over she told him. He looked dumbly at her. Then smiled. She was ready for his right hook, blocking it in a swift move. Following through, she twisted his arm and broke it. Like he broke her arm before. His scream was hideous. Dropping him to the floor, the Goddess methodically went round his body. His good arm was next and then his legs. All broke quickly and without effort. Her small frame belied great strength. Standing over him she looked down at him. He whispered one word: why? The Goddess smiled. And replied, revenge my dear. There’s one last thing I must do. It will hurt. From out of her outstretched left hand, an orange line of fire whooshed forth and devoured his corpse. He uttered the most gut wrenching scream of his life. And was silent. Angry flames shriveled his corpse and turned it to ash. A crowd had gathered, standing well back. Frightened. Let this be a lesson to all of you angry young men, shouted the Goddess. Then she was gone.
a notarized copy of this testament
is on file with my attorney
in case of my untimely unearthing
by the invisible background
driving another stake through my lactating heart
but back to our comatose semiotic narrative
The Eel king rips off Bobby's latex facade
at last I have you captive Bandwidth
Bobby prepared to submit to his doom
the tendrils of the hideous Orchids on the Porch
feel their way into his crotch
humid vistas from the Matto Grosso
panned before his eyes
ars pharmacopia little muffin went Eel
now for your loving torment
Bobby was dragged to the Cistern of Woe
by a busload of nuns from St. Vagina
and tied into one of Escher's inhibition pretzels
above a pit of human eyeballs
Bobby had a plan murky at first
but with a blurred urgency that unveiled
his guardian cosmetician's skin graft
from the last epic rescue
it had finally healed abused and maligned
tho still on oxygen or was it toxigen
no one knew much less the narrator
too harried by fate for detail work
but I digress to a distressing degree
Bobby stared into the cesspool of his mind
illumined now by a wan spark of hope
he would gambit judiciously
the ancient and terrible pherome defense
as the squish of rain forest footsteps
and little gasps of manual stimulation came closer
it was Lemona the Eel King's daughter
a beauty that all the aniline dyes in the jungle
could not extinguish in waterfall's fog
he was instantly detrousered by
her steam engine of debauchery
within seconds her tongue
was down his throat to the car park
he heard the bell in her navel
and grazed like a sheep
the Eel King became visibly alarmed
contain your infantile carnality
insistent pride of my loins
to be continued
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
The long hard journey through
past to progress
These day's has far few many stops to make along it's tried and tested daily route to commute
As cutting costs has so many
uneconomic station laid bare
in it's path
Deemed unsustainable via
accounting computer program
ledgers with countless bites
of memory to spare
Once filled with dumpster full
of coal and shoals of eadible
fish pulse and grain
To steel the masses for another
working day to breathe new life
into industry
To service the never ending
escalating intresest on banking
loans that prop-up wall street share
prices
In order to finance and build a new
Mall , Factory , Hotel or Flats
On the grave of our past long
before they have even been
pronounced dead
It happened to the cowboys
It happened to the miners
It happened to the fishermen
It happened to the farmer's
What paradise for a car park
And job security for my family
And an honest day's work for pay
And human value self worth
And yet and though it is with our
blistered hand toil sweat and
tears it takes to build your tower's
It will be enough or shall it enable
us to afford us to live reside inside
your castles wall's
As for us we are merely entrusted
and expected to garner you with
security
Guard your carparks
Guard your gate's
Guard your monetary wealth
Good enough to raise your children
Place them firmly in our custody
Pick them up from Ivy Schools
When one is busy out shopping
taking lunch , partying or upwardly
socializing
And all of this for the measly price
of knowing one's place and one
mistake could cost you and your
family
It's one and only breadwinner
who put and set aside his pride
to hide it deep inside a box
That signals the future is the station
boarded up you just past