Long Vroom Poems
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Vroom! The loudest noise echoes the night
Construction starts.
The night is shaken by booms and bangs
Of trucks, of heavy machines!
To have a road, a smoother wider road
The path to peaceful sleep is shaken
The ears cry of pain
The head pains in sigh.
No soul is asleep,
The once peaceful village
Is now plagued by noise.
The jolly cuckoo is frightened,
It stops singing.
Village dogs are shocked,
They are tired of barking,
Roosters cover their beaks,
Why should they crow?
Booms, bangs and vrooms, it never stops.
What have we done to deserve such a torture?
Greed for money,
Greed for development,
Greed for progress,
Greed for speedy journey!
Must development deprive us of sanity?
Nobody, not a soul dare to question.
Afraid of what?
Waiting for a sacrificial brave rat to bell the cat?
The village brought it upon itself.
Leaders fail to intervene,
The night progresses in agony,
Why construct the road at night?
Days and nights, forced to stay indoors
To escape death, to tend health!
But the road builders are immune to coronavirus?
In this lawless land,
Chaos on the road,
Chaos in the night,
Chaos inside the head!
Windows shake, the night shakes
Insanity is creeping near!
To connect with the outside world,
Another world is destroyed.
The village wails,
The birds are silenced,
The trees are uprooted,
Dust in the air,
Noise in the air!
If black art can be summoned
To zap this noise
To zap the machines
To zap the workers
To zap the leaders
To zap development!
Oh no, we don’t need another development wave!
We don’t need no road,
We don’t need no smoother road,
We don’t need no wider road!
For the comfort of tomorrow,
The ears are deaf,
Nature is silenced,
Noise wrecked the quietest night!
Listen, this road is your doomsday!
The noise deafen your ears,
You hear no noise now,
You hear no evil,
You hear no cries,
You hear no truth,
You hear no future!
The road steals your land,
The road steals your hearing.
The road steals your pristine nature,
The road steals your sleep.
In the years to come,
When the next generations lose everything,
Please, mourn not, whine not!
Speak not today,
Your voices are forever muted.
The noise continues...
Adventitious existence birthed introverted spiritual outlier i.e. me
Speculative fictitious flirtation imagined
courtesy grown old male offspring (me)
begat when mine late mother and father met
former named, a popular Arthur Murray
ballroom dance studio instructor.
Subtle social cues (nonverbal or otherwise)
relayed, linkedin and exchanged
constituting courtship between
Harriet and Boyce
particularly on Valentine's Day
circa ~ mid 1950's.
Two young lovebirds
oblivious to cares and concerns
of uncertain webbed wide world
passionately kissed each other
murmuring sweet nothings
within most convenient ear of the other.
Romance blossomed
requited love ensued
avowed marital troth pledged,
a June 1955 wedding planned.
Soon thereafter
bedroom door locked, I presume
unbridled call of the wild
high powered pistol loosed
courtesy soundcloud hit bullseye
with figurative vroom
biological seed of life
and white Lily fertilized.
Thirteen months after eldest sister born
suckling from horn
of good hope
breast nursing done during the morn.
Forthwith brother planted in womb
hereditary characteristics transmitted
eons old traits disseminated
multitude of random chromosomes
deployed comprising frothy spume
housed generations foregone
maternal and paternal genes
unleashed unwittingly bequeathed
by ancestral forebears
anonymous long forgotten handsome groom
memorabilia couched as tintype
(also known as
a melainotype or ferrotype)
treasured analogous as
if relic dug up within ancient tomb,
perhaps clapper and bell foretold whom
yours truly acquired his
mental health predilection
predisposed toward gloom
mindset swirls with nihilistic doom.
Psychological angst chafes and doth abrade
existential crisis rooted psyche with ankh ring
travesty, mockery, and entropy cast charade
circumspection immediately
brings to forefront
of consciousness positive (necessary)
risk taking I did evade
exemplified by failing nearly every grade
inferiority complex insinuated and did invade
mucking up healthy livingsocial buzzfeeding,
when too many cooks spoil the broth,
hence being superfluous kitchenaid,
hence as schnorrer I masquerade.
What a special time of year....
I,Santa and my minion of elves
making a gazillion toys for all
the giddy girls and boys.
Just what are some of the things they
will find under the tree? Let's see !!
Colorful cars that go vroom vroom
and twin engine planes that zoom.
Remote control trucks that
tumble around the room.Oh these
things simply can't come too soon!
There's the cute little doll house
with a canary canopy and the stocking
stuffed to the brim with sugar coated candy.
Oh my, what about the indestructable
tank with the turret that pivots or the
tried and true toolset equipped with
screwdrivers, pliers, hammer
and yes, even a rack of rivets.
I almost forgot about the long-legged dolls
with their fancy silk sweaters and dresses.
Oh how girls love those that talk or cry,
or ..... yes, even make little messes.
Then there are teddy bears,dolphins,
monkeys, ...stuffed animals of all kinds.
Oh, is it possible for the youngsters
to get these tantalizing toys out of their minds?
Chutes and Ladders,Candyland, Twister,
Guess Who, a smorgasboard of board games.
Oh yes, after this Christmas Day,
nothing could ever be the same.
Then there are cd's, dvd's,mp3s
you name it, even cell phones to call.
And no, that's certainly not all.
Catchers mitts, frisbees,yo-yo's or
better yet, a new leather basketball.
Robots, Light Bright,Spirograph,
we are busy making toys for tots.
And I don't think I need to tell you
No matter how you slice it... there's alot.
But I'm running out of time here you see
and there's no limit to what
can be found underneath the tree.
Every year Christmas provides a new story.
I know I hold a special place in
the hearts of people both young and old.
But I will be the first to admit
Christmas is not about me or what's
under the tree, but might I be so bold
as to say we must not forget that the real
Christmas story is all about love.
It starts and ends with the gift of Jesus
sent to us from His Father above.
For without that very "special delivery"
Christmas Day we wouldn't even celebrate.
No, as a matter of fact, December 25th
would simply be just an ordinary date.
The following reasonable obsolete rhyme
verst heard in my faux class (sic) lilting brogue
courtesy coronavirus (COVID-19) rogue
wrought approximate sixth month academic hiatus
nevertheless September 1st, 2020
signals resumption of school year back in vogue.
Challenges abound as millions of students re:zoom
trudging off to..., yet another bus comes by... vroom,
whereby administrators establish
virtual and/or actual room
adapt to delegate assignments as reported by newsroom
facilitated by yours truly,
a bonafide married, yet unbridled groom.
Though mind boggling, death defying,
and harrowing scenario daring to crisscross
(dangerous information highway road)
will confront those most qualified to teach
impressionable minds to overload
nevertheless I envy those learning
courtesy high tech mode.
Golden (gated) opportunity
spectacularly presented to bridge,
kickstart, and buttress young minds
immodestly excited and
amenable to learn online
one old googly eyed
aging pencil necked geek
makes his poetically cameo appearance
crafting awareness about severe complication
hash-tagging those best equipped to teach,
which alternatives pinterest me
linkedin, trumpeted nsync with
tried and true methodology
(think white/blackboard
with markers and/or chalk respectively),
who by the way never got chosen to
clap erasers outside,
fold flag ditto after said
emblematic sanctified cloth unfurled,
nor serve as safety patrol.
Though born within baby boom generation,
I horrendously (nobly) struggled
to acquire cognitive consonance
floundered like a fish out of water
forever barely achieving passable grade
He readily attests de facto failure
if hypothetically enrolled in kindergarten today,
I would get demoted to preschool
(a slight bit of hyperbole),
thus both laments abysmal track record,
whereby attending conventional
schools of hard knocks
(situated within Lower Providence district)
emotionally fracturing psyche
until this very waking moment,
and moost likely mine
remaining tenure on Earth.
Oy vey iz mir, one day in the life of a common house broken schmeckle...,
who did pötschke
and squander many an opportunity
to become a mensch
instead he became persona non grata
condemned to a history of misery,
not unlike Doctor Hyde and Mister Jekyll,
where friends, Romans countrymen did heckle.
After all said and done,
I best have stayed
safe and sound in the womb,
or hopefully at the least honored after death
with a squadron of B-52s
flying overhead with vroom
while being enshrined in a tomb,
cuz the living years of yours truly (me),
one after another trial and tribulation did loom
which figurative weave
courtesy weft and warp wove gloom
ordained I experienced hell on earth,
thus an inescapable doom
left no option except to skadaddle
into the outer limits of the twilight zone
at the edge of night
courtesy magic broom.
Plenty of times,
I ate in a crowded house,
where the crawdads sing
sinking their teeth into cranberries, meatloaf
and red hot chili peppers
served with a side order of pop slop
don't be put off by the name,
which mishmash actually yum zook,
nevertheless cuisine fiends spurred a tussle
where flock of seagulls
who got into a spat took
sparring mates to the cleaners
with angry yardbirds twittering about xyz,
and tweeting when loosely translated
into English language essentially meant
much ado about floccinaucinihilipilification,*
(Sounds like
flaa·suh·now·suh·nai·uh·luh·pi·luh·fuh·kay·shn)
according to legendary interpretation
by expert ornithologist with keen insight
rivaling that of the eagles
known for their skill playing chess
ofttimes, use an upside-down rook
to designate a queen
under United States chess federation
rules and in casual play take a look
for yourself, rather than believe amateur
what might be considered poppycock hook
line and sinker qualifying as gobbledygook,
which utter nonsense I did cook
up, yet please feel welcome my gibberish to brook
*the estimation of something as worthless.
Got yourself some new wheels, huh?
I can hear the squeals of rubber burning
I cough exhaust…left behind, oh gosh! I’m holding just a pile of dented fenders…
suspended… Your bucks spent. Engine Red..that foreign bred truck!
Snap, crackle and Popular Mechanic…Look at the maniac go….!
Holy, Moly….must be rolling in dough!
Woe is me, a junk yard dog, pile of junk, smelly sneakers left in my trunk
There he goes….who knows where….how many horses…under that hood...?
Should I know? I’d fly too, if I could. Just scrap metal in my bellow.
Heavy pedal, limp and wasted..used to be his favorite girl…kept me polished, waxed
and oiled…now I’m soiled. No garage..no umbrella, who gives a rip? Worn out
engine, give up the ship! Cast away…..not in style…gave a ride to Gomer Pyle
“See the USA in your Chevrolet"…, ‘cept that I ain’t got no carburetor
See ya later gator…what’s the hurry fella? Did ya see the light was yellow?
Red light, yellow light…. see if we can make the green
Going green….going green,….does that mean his hybrid’s clean?
Anti-freeze, it makes me sneeze….can’t I have some oil please?
Give ‘er the gas, let’s see what she’s got!
OH.. forgot!…ain’t got my tires..I’m retired
Pubescent male migration, arcing over sunless streets
Hear that squeak……doctor told me oil leak
Honest Engine, joined the pack, no Pontiac to take that ride
Is there heaven for old cars? Car 54 where are you??
I got my kicks on Route 66, running relays, no baton, just open freeways
Son of a gun…give it the gun……vroom.. vroom… run… run!
One door closes, need new hoses, or I don’t go nowhere… no how
Pile of rust, I’ve been busted, up on blocks…what a crock!
My teeth and pride are all knocked in…windshield wipers brush a tear
Windshield wipers swipe the years…skid marks show behind my eyes
Teeth and pride are all knocked in, guess I’m just an old has been!
______________________________________
a stream of consciousness
On the sixteenth of May, you wore white — I wore black.
It was warm, we felt pleased and we smooched with a smack.
All four parents had come. We would reap what we sowed.
It felt right. It felt good. But behold — it just snowed!
In the hope of mid-May, we made plans with no doubt.
I’ll do this — you’ll do that. Should have googled our route....
Both your sisters showed up. All bode well — well it bode.
What a car we would drive! But it suddenly snowed!
On the lawn, in the sun, we meandered and mused.
What a house we would build! We were brightly enthused.
And that evening the guests brought of presents a load.
We unwrapped — oohed and aahed. Yet the darn thing just snowed!
Was the pastry to taste? ’Twas a fav'rite of mine.
It was French. It pleased all — both the rough and the fine.
Every bud squirmed with joy, and it clearly showed
as we drank and we yacked on the day when it snowed!
We were set to drive on — from point S to point E.
It’s a cinch in mid-May! Who would dare disagree?
I went ‘vroom!' You went ‘go!’ All the luggage was stowed.
But the sky hid its face for the world had snowed.
Many Mays may have passed, and we’ve seen this and that.
We have lost and amassed. And we should have grown fat.
We have grown, to be fair, and we’re still on the road
from point S to point E back in May when it snowed.
We keep vrooming along, and by now we have learned
how to turn up the heat and then eat what we’ve earned.
Warm it is in the car; far — our distant abode.
Thus we mosey in peace — even if... it has snowed.
I can’t say any sooths; I won’t read leaves or guts.
Most predictions are bunk — there are few ifs or buts.
All we plan will come true... or it won't — no one knows.
But I do know one thing — May’s the month when it snows.
It was at that very moment
I knew of my importance
My value
My worth
Something I was unsure of
Since my own birth
3 days earlier…
While walking the streets of Manhattan
Minding my own business
Something happened
It was summer,
The sun felt warm
The girls were even hotter
I was watching this one
Ice cream in hand
Licking and walking at the same time
Too much!
When something caught my eye
A cab
Speeding, approaching really fast
Thought was thrown from my mind
I acted on instinct
I grabbed the girl.
Vroom, the cab went whizzing by.
She thanked me
We exchanged names
Said goodbye
Next day…
That girl was leaving work
For the 5:13 at Penn
When at the top of the stairs
She saw a man stumble
If not for her quick thinking
He would have gone down hard
With terrible consequences
She reached a hand out
Pulled his Perry Ellis jacket
Saving his life
Embarrassed,
He said thanks
And walked away
The next day…
The clumsy man
Stepping from a newspaper stand
Noticed another man
Walking fast, almost running
But wearing a suit
He questioned this and took note
He watched as the man
Ducked into a nearby doorway
Not five minutes later
Saw police running the same route
Directed them
And walked off
The running man
Was stopped
Just before
He could kill the old woman
He was robbing of fifteen dollars
Today…
While stepping from a curb
I heard a scream
An old woman’s voice
Called, “Sir! Sir!”
I turned
Just as the bus
Was about to run me over
I thanked the woman
Who said
She only wanted to say
That she noticed a stain
On my jacket.
It was at that very moment
I knew of our importance
Our value
Our worth
Something I was unsure of
Since my own birth
It is me looking at my old self, laughing, mocking the weakness within
the bad memories of yesterday seem absurd today
I know and so should You there are many storms ahead
no matter how hard they hit always remember the Sun
is bound to shine - if not in the instant the storm is gone
in time - don't do what shouldn't be done
or you might just miss this rhyme - you'll be gone
Life comes with good, with bad - be happy, be sad
be calm, be mad - instead of death choose life
It's morning and I'm trying to jumpstart my thoughts;
vroom-vroom, there they go on the highway, rushing
towards my right brain ready to morph into rain
and fall on your left brain -you think- how selfish of me
to impose a simple action that may cause a chemical reaction
ending up as a synapse of poetry, robbing you of your dignity
In these strange times we live in we just have to learn to give in
and absorb what's given by those who think for us, after all
there's a certain sense of nobility in: being lead to victory,
accepting without questioning the sound reasoning of those who lead,
believing they won't turn their back on us in times of need, right
Wrong, hear that gong? You've just KO-ed your own freedom
of choice, of having your own voice and traded it for.. for what?
A false sense of security, a sense that when things take a turn
for the worse you can hide behind the big man; reality check
the big man with his big words will be nowhere to be found,
you'll be left all alone to stand your own ground...
Question everything, even yourself, be curios; if by chance
you've lived a delirious life, without dong so just remember
It's better accepting change and regret what you've done
than living a life of neglect, being horrified by what you've become
Form:
A Feline Fable
Old grandmother cow I think her name was Bessy.
Would often scold the kitty cats for leaving everything so messy.
She’d make sure they drank their milk and checked the barn for mice.
“Do things right the first time around, you won’t have to do them twice.”
“She’s old.” said the Tabby Cat, “Annoying.” cried the Devon.
“We’re almost grown.” moaned the Bobtail “I am nearly seven.”
“I hate answering her questions who, what where, and when?”.
“She asks them in the morning and the afternoon again.”
They came up with such a plan that it was hard deciding.
Each time they saw her coming the cats would all be hiding.
The first day it went all right as they hid beneath the grain.
She caught them running to the barn as it started to pour rain.
The second day they hid beneath the farmer's big, red truck.
It was awfully crowded. Two kitten's tails got stuck.
Vroom the roar of the motor could have sealed their fate.
Grandmother cow had a hunch and asked the farmer to please wait.
He stopped the truck and underneath saw those fearful eyes.
How Bessy knew they were there came as no surprise.
That old heifer had been on the farm since the property was sold.
She was as wise and kind as she was large and definitely old.
One by one grandmother cow rescued them with her tail.
She placed each cat quite softly on the top of a hay bail.
When the cats were accounted for, she told them to go home.
“It’s too late for you young kitty cats, You can stay up when you've grown.”
“ Respect your elders and listen you might learn something.”
02/06/2021
Written for Fabled Musings Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May