Long Exhaust fumes Poems
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Lyrics are sung to the music of
David Bowie’s “Panic in Detroit”
Just another slow rush hour,
breathing exhaust fumes
Heading to downtown Motor City,
won’t get there anytime soon
A giant pileup sits at the end of the long commute
Parking in Detroit, wished he took another route
Boss said come in today, she said come right away
Parking in Detroit
He cursed the accident that happened, made his arrival
late
Traffic report said there were constructions
Redirected the wrong way
A trickle of vehicles were all that could get through
Parking in Detroit, wished he took another route
Boss said come in today, she said come right away
Parking in Detroit
Hustling to his car, he made his way to work
And found his upper
relaxing in her negligee
He fled and hid between the vending food machines
Then jacked the resting cart parked outside the lounge
Avoiding a taxi situation,
found the parking lot
Raced back uptown with reckless speed,
shut off the ringing phone
He parked outside a stranger’s house for awhile
Parking in Detroit
He had to take another route
“Baby, please pick up!”
She said come right away
Parking in Detroit
Unquotable quotes – XII
To catch a monkey, you need a young coconut with three holes for eyes ; bore a hole in one and wait : the monkey will thrust its hand in to grab a mouthful and will not let go come what may.
To catch a false monk, you need an orphan.
To catch a thief, you need either a camera or a cobra.
To catch a bluffer, you need to make him believe ya.
To catch a fly, you need a spider with a parlour.
To catch a poisonous snake, you need a retracting loup on a long ten-foot pole.
To catch a giant, you need a sling with a stone.
To catch a Pharoah, you need his sister with a hisser.
To catch a priest, you need the advice of his Chief Geist.
To catch a stool-pigeon, you need another stool-pigeon.
To catch a plane, you need a valid ticket.
To take a train, you need a ticket-puncher.
To board a ship, you need to rise with the tide.
To catch the woman next-door, you need to wait until the paramour goes out the back-door.
To catch a ripe durian, you need to have a hard or an empty head.
To capture a girl in a burqa, all you need is another burqa.
To capture a rat in a hole, all you need is a secret service mole.
To capture a pirate ship in a canal, all you need to do is to lower the water-level.
To catch a polar bear and her cubs, all you need to do is to raise the level of your exhaust fumes.
To catch a lark on a bark, all you need to do is to click your camera.
To catch the sun in the morn, all you need to do is to sleep with your window open.
To catch cold, all you need to do is to stand stark naked bold.
To catch forty winks, you need to be full of drinks.
To get on peoples’ nerves, you need to step on their toes.
To catch the pox, you need to meet a certain lady who lounges around the docks.
To come to grief, all you need to do is to rob Fort Knox.
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2016
another sunny day has come and will go away this is how my day began.sitting in the sun on
the front porch of "kathy's hair salon"basking in the sun and being chocked by the clouds of
cigerette smoke in the air.two young girls in a mustang looking cute talking o the phone
never realized it might be there last goodbye.im swamped my mosquitos and traffic all
around,never imagining the relity of that horrible crash sound.
bang crunch slam.spun around and flew into the ground people screaming all
around."someone call 911'.a man came running from out of the crowd screaming outloud
to the girl on the ground.he checked for her pulse as he watched her bleed gave her c.p.r
with air to feed.no help had arrived no one coming to help only god knows whats next in this
horrible mess.
she gasps for air but cannot move its obvious to all she lost control.no movement in her body
no voice from her mouth who is this little girl what happend to her world?exhaust fumes mixed
with gasoline is corroding the air still no sign of help is on the way there.to the man on the
scene he only wants to help but to others shes a black girl and really nothing else.
to end one life to spare one more as she lays helpless on the ground.
suddenly a siren from out of the crowd rushing to help but not allowed.the crowd begins to
throw bottles at the men on the scene,it becomes a factor that race is what they mean.little
girl lost in a white mans town,paralized and confined and wheelchair bound.finally they get to
help the girl but suddenly she realizes her friend might not be alive.
as they put this little girl in the ambulance she looks to her right and sees whats next.its her
frien in the crowd standing tall standing proud giving her the finger as she walks away.
Form:
Exhaust fumes and flower blooms
Acrid smells, gentler scents
& pungent decay
Hot molten gold flows out of a clear
blue sky
Cars rumble down streets made into
alleys through the trees that tower
over them like Eiffel
Or Freedom
With the rain age old mud mixes
into the seams of recently laid
concrete
My city is a cyborg
With kudzu wrapped telephone wires
weaving away from its heart like
veins through body
Carrying life-lines to its extremities
Steel office buildings rise from the
ground alongside the trees that we
plant on the sides of downtown streets
Because we don't want to forget
what the land was like before we
came
And our quarries carved down mountains
and our progress intruded on mother nature
We don't want to forget what things were like
Before the South started to
become "new" and king Cotton lost
his right to rule to the steel mills, quarries and commercialization and
became a peasant
Before industrialization changed the landscape
And Birmingham earned the nickname "The Magic City"
Civil Rights demonstrators marched
some of the same streets we walk
And the 16th Street Baptist Church
has an exhibit that reminds us that
sometimes progress comes with a high
price
right across from the Civil Rights Institute
Part of Martin's dream came true in some places
Black and white children play
together now
But you can still see the Confederate
Flag hanging from a pole at the side
of the interstate as you go down
towards Florida
The Klan still holds rallies
and buzzards can still be seen eating
road kill in the middle of the suburbs
This is still the south
What some call the country
....and minders of the past are
never that far away.....
Form:
Contamination of the mind, body, and soul has been a conspiracy of the dark side since before time began.
As ministers of malice and engineers of evil, they inject fear into the multitude and enslave so many as the seashores' grains of sand.
Their goal is to maintain control with a firm grip, utilizing false illusions and mischievous deceptions.
Water, air, and food are injected with poisons to restrain humanity from the prime connection.
The school systems stray from the truth and avoid teaching about finances, human resources, culture, purpose in life, or our origin from a divine source.
A veil has been created to blind and deceives the mind by withholding the truth, paralyzing mankind's incredible untapped force.
The media, a privately owned deceptive tool, only portrays depression, gloom, and separation and fosters all of life's negative perplexing aspects of despair.
All the while above loom chem trails for hours, exhaust fumes for days, and many other unseen malice carbons and toxins, time to clean our precious life-giving air.
Distractions in this dimension involve the acquisition of more money, more possessions, acquiring power, and with ruthless control, humanity is kept on a merry-go-round.
Through this method of intensive schooling in search of security, status, comfort, and riches, there is a lack of guidance of true compassion, comradery, and eternal values which keep the masses chained and bound.
Fear, hate, and greed are quite the horrors of humanity and are the tools used to discourage, separate, and elude.
It is time to search, not outside but within for there lies the spark bursting into the fire of love, empathy, and truth, spreading through the multitude.
I have my window down in my car as I pull to a stop at the light.
Music blaring, inhaling exhaust fumes, horns honking, sirens wailing,
in a chaotic moment my eyes catch something everyone else has missed.
A pair of birds in a nearby tree tending to their nest of young ones,
they seem unaware of the confusion around them, focused only of their task.
Stopping here, and there, and everywhere during my busy blurring day, what do I see? I see the little things, the ones you normally pay no mind too.
A butterfly, floating on a whirlwind and landing on wildflowers growing through concrete cracks during rush hour.
A hummingbird, going from home to urban home looking for a nectar feeder, oddly looking at satellite dishes as possible sources.
A leafcutter bee, chewing what it needs for nesting material from an overgrown leafy plant in a suburban parking lot.
One day melts into another, hardly noticing the difference. The clouds, the sun, the breeze that blows your hair, calling to you. It whispers something to your heart, "step back and breathe the life of everything surrounding you, use your senses".
Sitting in my garden, I see birds tending their nest of young ones, they are always welcome here.
Sitting in my garden, I see a floating butterfly landing on flowers, you are always welcome here.
Sitting in my garden, I see a hummingbird drinking nectar from my bright colored feeder, you are always welcome here.
Sitting in my garden, I see a leafcutter bee filling a tube made of reeds to protect their offspring, you are always welcome here.
A sanctuary begins in one's own mind, you are free to construct and create from all that is, was, and will be.
Welcome......
IF ever I had a country : LII - LIII
" How can the life of such a man
Be in the palm of some fool's hand?
To see him obviously framed
Couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land
Where justice is a game "
Extracted from Bob Dylan's " Hurricane "
LII
IF ever I had by error stumbled upon a country
And if ever I were a resident in an area run by the son of a Mediterranean refugee
I'd say to this powder-puff Madame Tussaud clay-face sooner rather than later (t)his realm I'll flee to be free
For all the migrant force he currys favour with gratuitous doles from the common coffers fee
To turn them into replica models of his own wax-works jamboree
Will melt under the sun of his own exposure into insipid putrid curry
That is, if ever I were tortured to my dying day by this mis-leading son of a refugee
And even if I never ever had stumbled by error into no such country
LIII
If ever I had by error stumbled upon a country
And if ever I were subject to the Third Degree by the Maudit Son of a refugee
Who commands his grass-mowing corps to funnel exhaust fumes into my hovel square metres under thirty
Who provokes other Mediterranean mugs mitoyen-masons to stuff my abode with merde and pee
Who protects and pushes the Co-Proprietors' Council Administrator and Janitor-couple confrérerie
To keep me from getting even a night's sleep in twenty years from the migrant crowd cacaphonic battery
That is, even if I were about to die I'd say find yourself another wax-work victim who cannot repartee
And even if I never ever stumbled by error into no such country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, August 10, 2018
The sun casting
a honey glaze
over the landscape
caressing the cool morning
hues of blue
to brilliant greens
deep and rich in tone
A scent of earthy musk
filling my lungs -
my chest heaving for
the pleasing effects
that grace such beauty
this mid-August morning
Goldfinches are vocal
this morning - flitting
and flying about
while a starling mounts
the top of a fir tree
vocalizing strange notes
which tend to mimic
other species
The fir trees -
there are many
now clustered
heavily with green cones
soon to dry - dropping seeds
to the awaiting ground
to nourish squirrels
and birds alike
Shadows now as long
as they are wide
over the landscape
The air quality now compromised
by tobacco smokers
and the drone of auto traffic
rushing the roadways
spewing exhaust fumes
choking - and gagging
my every breath
This day will progress
as all the others
Humankind hell-bent
on disruption
to get on with another
disconcerting day
never to saver a
delightful morning
sunrise as it should be
As I move onward with
my morning walk
the heat of the day heightens
weighing heavily
against the progress
of my morning walk
to only turn back for home
to discover my only
shade tree
being hacked away
by a chain saw wielding idiot
So goes this day -
what else can this
mid-August day bring?
One never really knows.
And the colored girls sing (A tribute to Lou Reed)
“Sugar Plum Fairy came and hit the streets”
Dragging the soul of a contender
who painted crooked lines and dotted futures
Spinning lies on the edges of gossamer wings,
then lickin her lips, black as night patterned velvet
while tracing underground sidewalks in glittered graffiti
and menu’d offerings
“Lookin' for soul food and a place to eat”
Digging in the pockets of her intended victims,
tossing lint to the curb in puddles of drool
Singing in a voice louder than her grumbling stomach
now exposed to the harsh winter of tomorrow
as foot soldier scarves in drab green
wrap her twisting ankles from the cold
“Went to the Apollo”
Standing in a long line for a ticket
to this sold out show, basking in the marquee lights
Collecting auditions from drifters
and finding her melody in a passing taxi,
yellow as her checkered present,
ignoring her cries to be ridden
“You should have seen him go, go, go”
Exhaust fumes mixed with knock off Channel #5
and scraping stiletto heels sparking on the emotions
of an ill fitting t-shirt with Lou Reed’s face stretched
to the limits of her darkly carved wild side,
she falls in line, fourth from the right
as metronome earrings sway in rhythm
“and the colored girls sing…”
The quoted lines are from the Lou Reed song, “Walk on the Wild Side”
Mama ate her collard greens with raw onions, pinching a
morsel of greens with sweet cornbread, as juicy pork
neckbones lay naked of meat.
The sweetness of life, like sweet Kool Aid fills our tummies,
while dishes await scrapes of scraps for the family pet; Tuffy.
A simpler time, when gas was priceless at $.75 a gallon-
and exhaust fumes were free.
Corner, Jewish owned stores amass nickels for pounds of salt
pork, fat-back and tabs for grits, Wonder Bread and sardines,
pennies for cookies, salted peanuts float atop RC Cola bottles,
while the neighbor; Miss Sally spits “bacca,” in a old tin can.
We sprint as Wilma Rudolph to tab a gallon of milk, after biting
a red pepper disguised as an ornament hanging from Daddy’s bush,
while I scratch melanin legs infested with sand-sores, from making
mud pies.
Strolls cross the railroad tracks on Saturdays offer rare window peeks,
as the Christmas parade showcases the only ***** High School
steppin high, erect and purposed, as integration passes the house.
Time creeps unaware of bigotry, racism, poverty and out-voted segregation.
Time welcomed newborns of newly born future stars shining dimly while
dressed in blackness to affirm cultural change.