Long Ins Poems
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High School Memories
(Two Drive-ins)
By Franklin Price
09/08/2024
It matters not how old we are
Or who we have become
We won't forget the friends we had
In the high school that we're from
Though many years have passed us by
When looking back, it's not that far
With sixteen candles on the cake
Old enough to drive a car
I got my driver's license
Got a car, was meant to be
Drove to school, not on the bus
Took my friends along with me
Three speeds were on the column
The seats were nice and wide
Sitting right there next to me
Was a girlfriend by my your side
Put my arm around her shoulders
Held her close and drew her near
She helped me as I drove along
And she shifted every gear
On Friday evening after school
I picked her up but not so late
Two drive-ins existed then
Both of them would be our date
My Canoe and her perfume
Mixed to make the car smell fine
The windows down, no AC then
As we headed out to dine
Pulled in the drive-in eatery
To have a burger and some fries
The waitress came on roller skates
As the sun set in the sky
When we received our order
A tray was mounted to the door
The food and drinks were on it
No paper bags to trash the floor
We enjoyed our meal together
Every single taste and sip
Put the waste upon the tray
Paid the bill and left a tip
Headed for the drive-in show
That was just across the street
Paid a dollar for the car
Prices then could not be beat
Pulled into a parking space
With a speaker on a post
Hung it on the window frame
Turned the volume up to most
The lights turned off, projector on
The movie on the screen
When the night was over
Most of it, we had not seen
675.333 is ? of 2026
We’re a third of the way done with 2026. I thought we ought to compare notes on the powerful tides of 2026 - what’s in, so far, and what’s out.
So, it’s with immense excitement that I present my lists.
You won’t find this elsewhere on the Internet provocation engine,
- it’s a lot of vibes for one piece - let’s go
What’s in, in 2026? What’s out
Gen Z directness, bets,
slop content, Dutch paintings,
excessive sugar, exercise,
self judgement, the U.S.A,
credit card debt, flip phones,
candy cigarettes, careerism,
cowboys getting Botox, offline sex,
being honest, sexual identities,
taking stuff personally, monogamy,
nonsexual nudity, being swole,
flash photography, sentimentality,
using your phone at dinner, dog friendly snacks,
Dance Dance Revolution, being nonchalant,
mass hysteria, avoiding politics,
performative dinner parties, coffee tea mixes,
jelly filled beignets, trad wives,
expressing gratitude, endless screenshots,
pandering art, monetizing hobbies,
believing in a God. AI relationships
beach energy, the high road,
weekends with no plans, making fake plans,
closet sales, republican crazy,
Prada collapse sneakers, eating for your blood type,
Thrifting hauls corporate headshots,
confidence on the metro productivity apps,
Extra - advice for the lovers out there:
Tell your boyfriend when you’re unhappy,
while you can still turn the boat around.
.
.
A song for this:
Half Real by Geese [E]
Under The Stars by The Moving Stills
.
.
*this list was edited for time
Friday Night Check-ins
The days have been calm and collected.
The guests have been happy, content.
The weekday staff scurry out from the hotel
To avoid the upcoming event.
Weekend receptionists tremble
As the Friday night check-ins approach,
Fearing the tsunami of wrinklies
On their three-day excursions-by-coach.
The first vehicle’s brakes squeal their warning
As its door opens up with a sigh.
The girl at the desk and her male teammate
Watch the porchway with dread in their eyes.
The first wrinkly disembarks backwards,
Reaching up to be handed her Zimmer.
The scowl on her face giving more than a hint
Of the litany of protests within her.
Slowly the vehicle disgorges
Its fifty malcontent arrivals.
The front desk staff offer a brief heartfelt prayer
For their sanity, composure, survival.
Like an unerring wave of displeasure
The wrinklies shuffle in through the door,
Shoving aside anyone heading out –
They’ve made this manoeuvre before.
The party’s predominantly female,
Determined and far from benign.
Apart from one chap, in windcheater and cap
Looking hen-pecked and toeing the line.
They descend on reception like locusts,
Complaining, demanding and cackling.
The staff at the desk have nowhere to hide
From the surge of objections they’re tackling.
Ground floor room! No steps! Wheelchair access!
Why no lift? Single occupant! Porter!
The tottery old girl with the big Zimmer frame
Demands a young man to escort her.
The onslaught is tough and relentless
As the wrinklies press home their attack.
Then, deftly dealt-with, the tidal wave thins
As they head to their rooms to unpack.
Pleased with the way things were handled,
The reception-staff think they’ve survived.
But outside the lobby, brakes hissing with glee,
Another full coach has arrived…
Breath in, breath out
the tide ebbs in, and surges out,
flows and pauses.
Swings and seesaws rock, bounce and rebound,
up and down, in tick-tock metronome time.
Memories tug, get hugged,
then unclasp, withdraw and let go to fade.
Dreams materialize, then dissolve.
Laughter spits, splits, spills, gushes out,
echoes then wanes to abstain in a chuckle.
Hope flits and flickers like a candle flame
blown to quiver by a shaky breath expelled
while trying to blow
the flame of a birthday candle out.
For the cadence of existence
is a hymn tuned by a conductor's baton
a metric dance, set in a tango two-time step,
a soft-shoe tap rap
in between yesterday and tomorrow,
in between blinks, breath holds.
Nestled momentarily on-hold to pause,
in between the tugs and shoves
of feelings, emotions,
hopes, inspiration
faith and desire.
Hold your breath,
for a brief moment.
Take time to take in
all the ins and outs,
and the roundabout twirls,
that surround you,
while you go
with the flow.
Ran into an old friend
just the other day.
Has to have been
50 years
another way.
She made that big mistake
of asking what I've been up to.
Well, I've been studying
systematic multicultural theology
and, then, regenerative ecology.
Oh,
that sounds nice.
Probably keeps you out of trouble.
Yes, well, I guess it is nice,
but not trouble-free.
Another word
might be "athletic."
Like soccer?
More like gymnastics
and long distance running.
Anyway,
have you ever heard of Process Theology?
It has a first Christian cousin
in Creation Theology,
Brought to us sytematically
by Matthew Fox,
but also rooted more experientially,
synergetically,
by both Eastern and Western nature/spirit mystics.
Well, sounds like I have some homework
to do--to catch up.
Just Google process theology
or creation theology
or, better, both
and see if you can see
positive correlations
for those with ears
to hear.
Ok, well, thanks.
I'll get right on that.
Then, look up regenerative ecology,
restorative environmental justice
and try creation ecology--
and maybe positive psychology's Theory of Original Matriarchal Attachment.
See if they all sound alike
more paradigms for sprouting polypathic
feeding
watering
nonviolent ecological communication
and experiential regenerative theology.
Well, my goodness!
Look at the time...
Exactly,
the space within bilateral time,
Here within timeless Now,
Yang strong atoms
Yin flowing spiraling strings of waves,
LeftBrain dominant monoculturalism
undermining RightBrain prominent multicultural communication
unfolding in-between
chaos and complexity
Alpha and Omega
One and Zero bionic
bilateral double-binding
bicameral
natural ecological egos
and spiritual theological-neurological eco-habitats
sacred within as climates secular without
health reforming multicultural wealthy experience,
collateral compassions
of Zero NonSum-ologies;
Each of these
WinWin strategies
for healthy resilient systems.
Sorry,
had to check my texts.
Kids, you know.
Never stop being a responsible parent
or friend.
Were you still talking?
If a verbal communicator
stands
or sits
or squats in a forest
of non-listeners,
is the cooperative communicator speaking
or just talking within myself?
Caves are dark, dank, sinister havens for rising damp
Mere cavities in the ground, veiled from light of day
Yet caves are heralded, admired and cherished
For a swarm of reasons, just mind the bats
Caves are drop inns
Hikers and natives welcome finding a cave
They provide shelter from wind and rain
A great place to stay the night, light a fire
To enjoy the cosy charm of safe seclusion
Caves are art galleries
The walls are dotted with new and ancient graffiti
Hand-prints, paintings, scribbles and scenes
Made by artists with no where else to hang their stuff
Revealed by flickering flames and dim filtered beams of light
Caves are museums and dumps
Visitors leave their junk in caves
Animals topple in and get trapped
Caves are a great place for animals to die
These dumps are bliss to archaeologists
Who drool over skeletons, artefacts and such old-time junk
Caves are cathedrals and awe-catches
Endless aeons of dirty drips yield fabulous
On floor and ceiling displays of
Glistening stalactites and stalagmites
The cavernous space, silence and eerie dankness
Makes visitors gasp with adoration and awe
Highlighted by the uniqueness, isolation and remoteness of caves
So duck-in to a cave when you pass one by
and you'll discover the ins and outs of caves
Caves are awesome and strangely welcoming
Despite their darkness, dampness and malevolence
"The Slip-ins"
Why should I continue to write
these feathery songs,
these blanched banjo tomes,
these wilting poésies
of a lost little life ever circling
like a memory stone thrown
across a lake of discontent
into the bottom of a dark pond
where the sulphar trolls
with their attached pilot fish
of no kingdom come spin
their spindly venomous and childish reasons
along their tongues those sticky webs like a cast net
toads reeling blue flies in
smiling at all the joy stolen
where they store the chord of me
silent and vibrationally buzzing
like a good mummy
for later feeding,
I am trapped
in the blistering better knowledge
of those angry joyless monsters
who like love-hungry creepers slip in
ripping me away, pulling me down
far away from Blue Sky
Candide Diderot. ‘25
“Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality.”/Lewis Carroll
“War is an absolute failure of imagination, scientific and political. That a war can be represented as helping a people to 'feel good' about themselves, or their country, is a measure of that failure."/Adrienne Rich
“War is an invention of the human mind. The human mind can invent peace.”/Norman Cousins
“There are not more than five musical notes, yet the combinations of these five give rise to more melodies than can ever be heard.” /
Sun Tzu, The Art of War
“Imagine”/ John Lennon (Lyrics).
The world is over; we have become obsolete.
Automation about to be complete.
The aftermath is clear.
We are living in the judgement zone, alone—
Where we face ourselves in giant mirrors
That both illuminate and mutate our true selves.
We must come to terms with what we cannot undo,
And rip out the parts we cannot carry through
Into the next realm.
We have no form.
No shape.
No visible structures
In the next chapter.
We exist as only feeling—
Raw emotion,
The electrical current from our brains
Released into the atmosphere.
Climbing ever up,
Up,
And up.
Fighting back streams of tears—
Not out of sadness,
But not out of gladness either.
More of a beauty.
Everything is poignant.
Everything has meaning.
I do not want it to fade
Further into oblivion.
I cannot face Armageddon alone.
I do not want to see the end.
I want my planet back.
The one I had in the nineties—
When peace was a heartbeat away,
When people worked for the greater good of humanity.
Now all I see is hate,
Retribution,
And revenge.
Where have all the cowboys gone?
They stripped off the wranglers
And traded them for Skechers slip-ins.
Daintily cantilevering around their houses,
Balancing their lives between bland boring banality
And the extreme highs they seek
At every red light.
You might spot me in the window—
Shadowed by taboo,
Purifying my soul
By granting fantasies to the bored.
I might dance for money.
But I also dance for movement.
I want a revolution.
And pretty faces
Are known to launch armadas.
My Spanish blood burns.
I conquer their dreams.
I overwrite their banal fantasy
With illicit living—
On the edge of reason and sanity.
I want an old world—
One built on trade
Of goods, services, and ideals.
This new world consists of nothing but vacant boxes,
Technology’s cold refrain,
And disease patterns.
Hordes of demons hiding in suits of skin,
Pretending to care for our kin—
Betrayals and sin.
Begin again.
VERILY I PRAY TO JESUS YAHWEH INCLUDING ALLAH ITS BEEN TWO YEARS NOW WHEN BIDEN AND ALL THE HORRORS SEVERE THREATS DURING COVID OUR LIVES IN SHAMBLES AN YET DOMESTIC TERRORISTS RIPPED OUR FLAGS MORBIDLY BREAKING INTO OUR HOME WE HAVE SPENT OVER 3000 IN NEW LOCKS LOCK SMITHS SECURITY CAMS THE JAN 6TH NEIGHBORS BUST THEM OUT IN THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT THEY CRAWL OVER FENCES PUT KEYSNIN THE DOORSBTO MAKE QUICKSET KEYS TO ENTER OUR HOME CIRCLINGBOUT APPOINTMENTS ON OUR CALENDAR SO THEY KNOW WHEN TO STROKE TAMPERING WITH MY VIETNAM VETERANS MEDALS OUR MORTAGE BANK INFORMANTION MEDICAL INFORMATION I SUFFER I SUFFER MENTAL ILLNESS PTSD TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY MY HUSBAND AS WELL REACHING FIR MY BIBLE IT'S NOT RIPPED OR FOLDED THESE TERRORISTS ARE BOLDLY MERGING WITH THE SAME DOMESTIC TERRORISTS BITTER OVER MY AMERICAN POETRY MY GOD ITS DEVASTATING THESE ARE INSURGENTS BULLIES COMMITING HOME INVASION EXTORTING OUR PEACE HERE IN AMERICA GOD BLESS AMERICA