When you licorice listen the quiet is loud
Many voices are heard and many sounds
The car rushing down black street
Needs a muffler it rumbles so unique
The hum of electronic waves in the air
Do you hear it as well do you even care
Always hear my heart beat like drum
Is it tinnitus the cause of this hum
I can hear cicadas singing their songs
Nothing to be afraid of all night long
When I walk I hear my yellow footsteps
My shoes on and off makes the sound swell
I hear the baby cry across the way
Perhaps he is hungry or thirsty today
I hear the keyboard as I teal type
I am alone and so alone I write
Do we take time to hear each other
Despite differences we’re sisters brothers
Listen to the unique violet voice inside
That swells like the ocean moonlit tide
I live in the flight path of fifty to one hundred planes a day
Very rarely do my dogs look up now
They think it is normal for the sky to sound like a 747
Today was an exception
We all looked up
A plane sounded like she needed a muffler
I thought it would be a small plane
It was a 747
I was terrified until it cleared my home
in the distance it sounds like a monster truck at a drag race
people on adventures, traveling north and south
seeking the wonders and highlights of kansas city
as i sit on my old-fashioned porch
listening to a noisy muffler, safe at home
watching frenzied squirrels chase themselves around trees
the vehicle is heading south, down Interstate 635
people frantically trying to have a rip-roaring time
my english cream heads up the driveway, seeking new things
i bask in the sun like a over-fed lioness
fancying my cushy striped lawn chair
listening to the frantic highway sounds
appreciative it is them, and not me.
The snow man stands deadpan under the faint
Glow of the lamp, his scarf damp as snowflakes
Fall ‘round him, the land grim--isn’t it quaint?
The fake smile--what guile!--who would smile like that?
Made to suffer, with a muffler, he shakes
As cold wind rolls almost toppling his hat.
I remember one November day when
You made me wait ‘neath a tree. My heart breaks
‘Coz I’ve been in that scene waiting since then.
October 24, 2024
Baguio City, Philippines
A walk through the woods on a wintry day
Making fresh tracks in the blanket of snow,
Bundled up in my parka, muffler, and gloves
Biding my time with no specific place to go,
Watching the sun shining through the trees
Through icy mists of breath fog on my glasses
Occasionally, a tree limb gives up its burden,
And I think of the hearth and fireplace blazes.
Beauty lives here among the oaks and pines
Rising above the ground all smooth and white
While lush undergrowth hidden secretly rests,
Fresh heavy snow must have fallen last night.
Wondering at the mystical silence all around
Peace here in the woods, with nary a sound.
Written December 21, 2021
The dishwasher died on Thanksgiving.
The roof sprang a leak in the storm.
The shower drain backed up this morning.
The hot water’s not even warm.
But don’t think I’m always complaining.
Hell, I wish something else would go wrong.
The way that my life has been going,
I’m one heartache away from a hit country song.
My truck dropped a muffler last Thursday.
My son got suspended from school.
My boss thinks he hired a robot.
My wife thinks she married a fool.
I drink more than anyone ought to,
And I always bring trouble along.
At least I take comfort in knowing
I’m one heartache away from a hit country song.
For a hit country song I’d put cowboy boots on
Just to waltz across Texas and crash
Right into a wall in a back alley brawl
Where Kid Rock has been talking some trash.
My wallet’s so empty, it echoes.
My credit card’s loaded with debt.
I busted my thumb with a hammer
And just smoked my last cigarette.
It hurts, and I find myself asking,
“Why does heartache take so long?”
Hope they’re patiently waiting in Nashville,
I’m one heartache away from a hit country song.
Youth
When we were young, nothing worried us at all.
From spring through summer through winter and fall
We built forts from boxes some four feet high
We climbed trees like monkeys some went to the sky
We ate everything like mud cookies and chocolate swirls
Made fun of freckles on cute little girls
I was mean as a snake and happy you see
I didn't worry; big kids didn't bother me
I rode my bike for miles with my balloon muffler
Fell and chipped a tooth, but it made me tougher
One meal a day was plenty for me
A policeman, a fireman was what I would be
My brothers were taller my dad was too
They were giants, and I thought that was cool
As I grew older, more things began to shrink
As I grew older, I started to think
How nice being young and so carefree
Being that young then meant nothing to me
But now that I'm much older, I look back and see
I'm still young at heart a good ride for me
Copyright © William Pickard
muffler
muscle car
wife beater shirt
my dad in the sixties
muffler
Take a step take a bow
don't push me too hard
am still in reminiscence
of my lost course
which tells you I ve not recovered
Take a step take a bow
and don't knock me off
the questions in my attitudes
are alcoholic
when nature tends it they react
Take a step take a bow
but don't take a fling
Take the roses
to where they will blossom
plant them in the fields of love
take them away from the sun
they might melt
Take a bow clean up your mess
Cos' tomorrow lies a clean slate
Take your heart
do the needful
life scary habits
don't worth anything
Wear on a muffler
put on a jacket
the rain will greet
only those who are ready
Dress up the Cheetahs
dress up the Hyenas
attitudes will speak out their kind
Take a bow
but don't take a seat
life runnings
are not meant for the idle Pro 6 :6-11
if you kick
my kick
stand
my
bike
will fall
down
and all
the base
ball cards
and clothes
pins will cease
to
spin
and make
noise again
like a brok
en muffler
or a motor
cycle now
just sits
there where
a don Quixote
kid kicks it and
says to
his friend
Sancho it's
dead
Motionless
It looked such a sorry sight
Standing in the shed
Covered in rust and dust
With just a trace of red
A vibrant red with a flash of black
Across the outside door
No sign of this embellishment
As the car sinks into the floor of the shed
A car that has lost its glory
Stands motionless and dead
This old car was my pride and joy
Many moons ago
It's going to be a wrench
To see this vehicle go
Even though the seats are worn
As are the tyres, gears and brakes
When the engine is turned on
A dreadful noise it makes
Smoke billows everywhere
The muffler has snuffed it
Mice have made their home in there
Which they must soon all exit
Broken windscreen, windows scratched
Doors all buckled and dented
Tattered stickers on the car
Air freshener that once was scented
I suppose it's true or so it's said
Everything has its day
This was my thinking
As the car was towed away
To the wreckers. a graveyard for most
One wonders if those worn-out cars
Become angels or ghosts
No blood, no bone;
no sinewy flesh can hide muse’s cries.
No muffler stifles;
any trifles, of muse’s singing soul.
A celebrant of life is muse alive.
Intonations paint, blue and pinkish skies.
The greens and gold’s,
of earth and time;
how they revel in muse alive.
Muse upon her natural high;
gifts us with her best.
Expressions fly from muse alive.
Lift your face to the sun;
Heart bells of elation,
Ring and renew the spirit.
Souls music needs no technology to play;
Angels tutor the soul,
In the compositions of ecstasy;
Such orchestras are eternal.
Mortal ears never hear what the soul’s do.
The ability exists, in the ears of belief.
The baffle of mortality;
The muffler that stifles a spirit’s songs, is a thief.
Science is the profiteer that
deludes the singing soul into silence.
Dispense with the facts;
Sit in the silence to hear the concert of your life.
Behind the strong trunks of evening gloom
endless leaves sifting at toes
away and beyond in the low light fog
universal laws lead us home
trios of students examine life
inversely inspecting ideas and worms
fall lives adrift in the warmth
unkindled by muting life to death
leaven for life bread.
Fluttering winds, hair, friends
all swirled like a muffler taken to air
let us climb high toward heaven
let us swan dive into mulch with flair.
Sometimes I hate this car, it’s a pile of junk.
It steers so bad people think I’m drunk.
Rattles and shakes and smells so bad.
What a deal, I think I’ve been had.
Why does this car act so cruel?
And waste every drop of my fuel?
The paint looks like it has been in a crash.
The interior resembles a pile of trash.
The knock in the motor could wake the dead.
No start on cold mornings is what I dread.
The radio sounds like a nuclear blast.
Twenty four more payments, will this car last?
My car looks better than yours.
Even if It doesn't have all of it's doors.
The muffler is gone, no wonder it’s so loud.
I am used to this car, it makes me proud.
This car makes up who I am.
It is part of being a man.
I can drive where ever I please.
Until I have to give Dad back his keys.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.