Motel Poems

Motel 6

Need a boss Need a jerk
Need something to make your ass
Get up and work
I can inspire you for sure 
But I refuse to retire you
I refuse now dont ask me how
Dont ask me too many times
I dont wanna change my mind
But your so strong with my rhymes
Yust just 3 times sicker than the rest
Ill put

Motel Time

Time is vertical here,
it travels red-eyed in elevators,
it is an out of sequence conversation
you have with an ice bucket
it drops hair and lint into air-ducts,
then spins them into dreams.
In the morning,
perched on a sagging bed,
one sock in hand,
drinking sour wine from a plastic cup,
you close a suitcase
that bulges from two-days' worth
of motel-time.
You wonder how to

what do they wear to breakfast

in skimpy short shorts
she marches into breakfast
no eyes go up

I had forgotten
the immodesty of youth
for two seconds

it’s a public place
another wears pajamas
and bedroom slippers

Strangers in a Motel Lobby in Arkansas

motel lobby in arkansas
close to the crystal bridges
young man with tattoos walks to large creamer
he begins to pump creamer into coffee
sees me and indicates I go ahead of him.

Ii shake my head ‘no”
tell him to go ahead, he will be quicker than me
two polite strangers making conversation
in a motel lobby in arkansas
I sit down to

The Marigold Motel

Time here is measured
by the lint-clogged resurrections
of air-conditioners.
All of us have had to learn
to shout past our souls.
Dulled minds are churned awake.
Fractured nights slumber on
beneath the rocky rumble
of nearby ice-machines.

The ‘Marigold’
is unmarried, divorced and abandoned,
but for those still not seeking lonely
there are midnight do-overs.
Behind the days horizon
a desert sky still thirsts
in the mouths of discarded

The Tides Motel Palm Beach Blvd

My bus finally pulled in late 
you were there as promised 
although I  tried not to notice 
the blonde bimbo adjusting 
her skirt a cross between 
pat benatar and Melanie griffith 
puffing on a stale Marlboro 
cigarette while painting lipstick 
on her collagen strickened pink 
lips just like you to be charmed 
to give

Cheap motel on vacation

Sightseeing all day 
daybreak on the go travel 
just to lay my head

Country Road

silver birch 
.. lining road
…. ghost trees
…. snow teeth
.. mighty throat
eerie lurch

gaping mouth
.. swallow cars
… white lines
… road signs
.. battle scars
deadly route
 
winding neck 
.. asphalt beast
… grab all
… free fall
.. metal feast
longing break

coming rain
.. motel night
… hum sound
… calm down
.. rested fright
drive again



Notes
Syllabic verse poem, three syllables to AB, 2 syllables to CC, overall

The Motel Goodrest

With plates and words in anger flying
My wife and I now deem it best
To cease all our screaming and crying
As I check into the Motel Goodrest

I arrive and plop down for a blissful night
But for two hours a car’s engine revs; varoom!
Above me screeching shouts; a lover’s fight
And the loud thumping of the bed in

No Tree Street Names

He built motels
across America
loving the land so much
he could sleep anywhere
on her
in her
cheaply,
predictably.

Anywhere was home to him.
Home was not special
but same.
Same bars of soap,
same color wrappers.
Same towels.
Same smells almost.
Same views.

Home across
the human spirit
of imaginary states.

Just outside streets
with tree names.

And out of this
I arrived
from love created for each single
completed
square space
spilling forward,
motel to motel,
born by American Motel

The Motel Room

The motel room
It was on fire last night
45 outside
Burning fierce within
The heat
The passion
It permeated
I thought I could contain it
But it spread to me
The aircon working overtime
But still the fire burnt ferociously
Was waiting for alarms to sound
Red trucks to show up
Knocking on the door
To say 
Shut up
The motel room
It was on fire last night

Sunset Motel

Rosemary does a lady proud.
If not for the faint aroma,
as nicotine and soft music
deliver a quiet invitation.

Her heart opens with the 
door and allows a feeling
to grow, 
a candle to be lit.
With the draw of the night,
a closing door,
she sets fire to
her insides.

The hint of desire is washed away.

Eclectic heartbreaks, but then,
maybe just daring lust
has

Motel Room

Motel room, U.S. map made of license plates
everything I need for a week is here, king-
size bed, microwave, fridge, tv, hot plate
the carpet's pretty clean, the bathroom baptized
and there are two mirrors in which to imagine
myself, to analyze and idolize.
WiFi, no Elizabethan inn,
in a century when we fear nuclear war
and are warned against the shock

My Motel

My weight is still plummeting, I'm happy as hell
Wasting away, to my fatness I say farewell
But it's the chance I take
For goodness sake
Young fillies will be bugging me for a night at my motel

Malady Motel, No Vacancy - Collaboration With Space Cadet

TATEIAN WHEELS OF LIFE


Twenty Dora-band aids barely cover one of my scars across my chest.  It's my stomach this time. But one hour of reading James Tate makes my mouth curled upward, with an outward breath and smile. Though as morning ended, I thought, "My mood today is nowhere, I haven't been able to

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